from César Vallejo, Trilce. Marsilio Publishers, 1992. I Who's making all that racket, and not even leaving testation to the islands beginning to appear. A little more consideration as it will be late, early, and easier to assay the guano, the simple fecapital ponk a brackish gannet toasts unintentionally, in the insular heart, to each hyaloid squall. A little more consideration, and liquid muck, six in the evening OF THE MOST GRANDIOSE B-FLATS. And the peninsula raises up from behind, muzziled, unterrified on the fatal balance line. IV Two carts grind against the hammers until trifurca lachrymals, when we never did anything to them. To that other one yes, unloved, embitternessed under an unsheltered tunnel by the first one, and over tough aljid spiritiveordeals. I stretched out as a third part, but the evening-what'her we gonna dooo- rings around in my head, furiously not wanting to double mother's dose. They are the rings. They are the nuptial tropics already browsed. The parting, best of all, breaks into Crucible. That one that nothing had discolored. Side to side to destiny and cries and cries. The whole song squared by three silences. Heat. Ovary. Almost transparency. All has been cried out.Has been completely veiled in deep left. IX I sdrive to dddeflect at a blow the blow. Her two broad leaves, her valve opening in succulent reception from mutiplicand to multiplier, her condition excellent for pleasure, all readies truth. I strive to ddeflect at a blow the blow. To her flattery, I transafixiateBolivarian asperities at thirty-two cables and their multiples, hair for hair majestic thick lips, the two tomes of the Work, constinge, and I do not live absence then, not even by touch. I fail to teflect at a blow the blow. We will never saddle the torsoe Trool of egotism or of that mortal shafe of the bedsheet, since this here woman --what weight as general! And female is the soul of the absent-she. And female is my own soul.