On an uneventful day
the newsman said:
'A small plane was upturned by a dust-devil'
I was afraid:
there's dust everywhere
and even inside me
It could clearly be that there
are devils there too, and that
one day I may be crushed under a
couch, or worse be turned inside out
Later in the desert I learned what they were,
saw how that on some very dry days, they just pillar up
for a moment, and all the children chase after them
trying to jump into the devils, and be carried into the air
Driving at noon you would see them by the road side
peddling quartz, or pointing their thumbs straight up;
the whole length of the road you can see them chasing
after the road runners,
and wearing down the backs
and crosses of donkeys
Some days are like this;
but sometimes you see just one demon,
raging all of the day in one direction
denying anyone to look at her
Later I learned how man flies,
the teacher draws across the board the fingers of the sky
they stretch tightly across the wing until it carries it up
this is much like, how a bird flies
floating on the heat of the day
She didn’t draw the engines,
or how the turbines whirl-
pulling the wind onto itself and
carrying her and all her long fingers
on his back as he leaps into the sky
It was then I knew that the wind has favorites
missing the pull of one particular pair of wings
she whirls about her grounded companion and lifts him
into her arms, then satisfied drops him again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem