perdemos los ojos en las arenas sin sueño
de la tierra de desperdicio; la ceguera del espacio
nos encuentra aquí, dónde estiramos debajo un sol seco
que bebe del desierto.

es idóneo, amor, idóneo que el desierte me lame
con la arena como si fuese la sal final de una
caravana perdida que no busca nada, mientras

tú, solo, alarga al cielo, lamentando la brisa,

y yo, sola, alarga para oir la tierra desvelada
antes que ella me trague entera.

--

we lose our eyes in the sleepless sands of the wasteland;
the blindness of space finds us here, where we strain beneath
a thirsty sun that drinks from the desert.

it’s fitting, love, fitting that the desert licks me with sand as if i were
salt in a stray caravan that looks for nothing, while

you, alone, strain to the sky, lamenting the wind,

and i, alone, strain to hear the wakeful earth
before she swallows me whole.

---

Written in October 2007, originally posted on AP. This might be getting published. The English is a translation.
--Kira's Song