The Desert Of Atacama V Poem by Raúl Zurita

Speak of the whistle of Atacama
the wind erases like snow
the color of that plain

i. The Desert of Atacama soared over infinities of
deserts to be there

ii. Like the wind feel it pass whistling through the
leaves of the trees

iii. Look at it become transparent faraway and just
accompanied by the wind

iv. But be careful: because if ultimately the Desert
of Atacama where not where it should be the
whole world would begin to whistle through the
leaves of the trees and when we'd see ourselves
in the same never transparent whistles
in the wind swallowing the color of this pampa