Alfredo de Palchi

THE BORDER

Incongruous consolation of being at the window,
grass sterilized by frost
scraps of metal, wheels, handlebars, cylinders,
entire cars, what a splendid flowering

it’s so dark in my unconscious
I don’t know how to damn myself
for confiscating the center that lights up
the unconscious, which strengthens the instinct
right with these chairs around you
in this home on this bed

here is the border where you are the last physical
boundary; more space lies beyond
although I can spot it in you, clear concept,
immediacy—perhaps it’s the way
of words uttered by the midnight voice
when you dream yourself in a trunk or a room
without windows or door, or when
you hear knocking on the outside wall
someone who wants to come in.

—from Addictive Aversions, translated by Sonia Raiziss

—from Rattle #20, Winter 2003
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