My poet friends are like children in an airport:
they run from one counter to another asking for information
they immediately forget,
they confuse the waiting list with purgatory
and have more fear of the silence of their own voices
than the news of a plane lost in the immensity.
Seated in rickety chairs
they spend long hours discussing the probabilities of a take-off,
moved by the stampede of those departing souls.
They would give their lives to read the arrival signs in the sky
and for one lonely line they let go of every hand.
Rafael Felipe Oteriño (born 1945) Argentina
Translated by Lisa Rose Bradford