The calendar page has been the same for months;

you used to pull them free like ripe fruit or autumn leaves.

I saw you implode beneath a tamarisk, accompanied

by cicadas trying to find words to explain your existence.

I lie here surrounded by papers, open books, half-

finished work – wishing it would at least rain.

I’ve also imploded many times – too many to calculate.

It’s my attempt to locate you through an act of emulation.

Immolation. If I’m you, I’ll find you. My hope

burns strong. At the moment I’m strong enough

to see you as you were. Eventually you’ll be

a few selected moments of a reshaped memory –

cherished and valued for an emotional intensity.


by Ράσελ Τζον Ντεντ

Translation © R J Dent (2009)

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