This



This
happened between two eyelids; I trembled
in my sheath, choleric, alkaline,
standing with the slippery equinox,
at the foot of the cold I ignite a fire in which I come to an end.
Alkaline skid, I will utter,
much closer to the garlic cloves over the sense of syrup,
further inside, much further, into the rust,
to the flowing of water and the return of the wave.

Alkaline skid
again and grandly, in the colossal montage of the sky.

What darts and harpoons I shall hurl, if I die
in my sheath; I will give my five subordinate little bones
in leaves of sacred plantain,
and in the glance, this same glance!
(They say that in breaths they will be able
to build bony accordions, tactile;
they say that when they die like that those who come to an end,
ay!  they die out of reach of the clock, the hand
clasped on a singular shoe.)

Understanding that and everything, colonel
and all, in the crying sense of this voice,
I make my suffering, I extract sadly,
by night, my nails;
later I have nothing and I speak alone,
I go over my semesters,
and to fill my vertebra, I touch myself.


Cesar Vallejo