Copihue Poetry

What can one say about distance?
Phosphorescent smoke,
inner flame, time aflame,
contours of fixed suns
crossed oceans
turning,
forming a knot in my mouth.

 

This distance,
thrilling memory
stubborn hollow
light’s last confinement.
I get lost and I look for you
in the rushing flavor
that I imagine for you.

 

On every stone
you appear hidden.
I recall once again
the identical voices
unmoving in front
of the vast emptiness.

 

Behind each day and night
time guards us
inside a lament.