We are tenacious and we knelt on the sand, facing the sea. We see it. Miriam plays it with a stick we found when we came over here. Some are bored, just do not see, and instead watch giant sea ice. In the background are distinguished heads and geometric solid ice floes.
We walked all night moved, not certainty, but the fatigue of real things. About four inches of sand, in that vague space that is neither sea nor shore, in the space in which the foam is deposited in water and guess which bottom depression, erosion continuous particle moves, there, six inches or eight inches, was the narrow strip of meat, the color becomes gray boiled meat, but also half pink, floating in a swinging like swings. Miriam touched him with the stick and its edges were peeling threads of flesh.
dawning on our faces felt cold but not cold because it stood, the narrow strip on which was deposited in the sun, a heat that we accommodated between the body and sleeve. Dawn over Chile. From there we listened to the awakening of the people, rose the sound of cars and machines, the shrill voice of women, laughter, movement of cups cafes. We did not know how, say, we never knew how to access the raw center.
They rose, Miriam and I followed. I know
Valparaíso and painted walls. E winter.
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