LAND OF FIRE/FROM THE LAST OF THIS PLACE

From the last of this place
I learned the width of silence,
A final and utter aching
Drawn close to the neck
And worn out against
The heavy draft of hours.
From these endless pampas
I watched the sky folding
Over the earth with such hunger
The ground rose to meet it,
Pink and purple patches
Of twilight opened up
And swallowed whole fields
Of stone and wandering bush.
I waited for Eli Wallach
In the bar of the last hotel
Listening to the wind gathered-up
And thrown against the walls
With furious wails that
Exhausted the listener
Not for the relentless moans
But from the surety
That nothing could answer them.
From the last dusty street
At the bottom of the world
I heard a voice echoing back
Through halls of glass
And watched a child
Throw something into the dirt,
One hand opening slowly
To reveal the folded crease of time.

— James Norman Kerns
Porvenir, Chile Tierra Del Fuego
March, 2000