Alias City

They were travelers, plotting river courses,

writing the genesis of unknown people,

fugitives with a revolver in one hand, reins in another,

merchants among the olive trees, euphorbias, mimosas,

emissaries, deserters. Some knew the native tongues;

they called themselves by new names

in the eastern twilight, different parts of their soul

never having learned to live together.

Skies burned. Dust covered the palms

and minarets as they arrived by the incandescent shore

of our city, each with his own little dreams and disasters.

Some remained, never to be heard of again.

Some left with caravans, wearing native dress — ephemerids.

Where are they? What are they used to?

The only preserved interview — concerning an artist and explorer.