Kea behelainopean bezala
Editor: Susa (Basque)
Where does this all this smoke come from?
Ever since the beds were taken, people make love
in kitchen ovens in this town
while merchandise comes in with low-lying fog through closed windows.
I moved away from your voice so my coffee wouldn’t go cold.
Silence emerged from among the rocks
as the day inaugurated its stills.
The first inhabitants of the day carrying burned faces in paper bags,
making their way along the sidewalks,
annoyed, as empty as theaters, bottles.
People hurrying as if someone had robbed
the night of all its traffic lights.
The dawn was a lame person’s trail
hidden under the snow-laden sidewalk of life.
Where does all this smoke come from?
No one knows.
In kitchen ovens in this town, people make love
since the beds were taken.
Translator: Kristin Addis