Through the glass “Earth, sweet and smooth earth what was your face like, brown earth?" Aurelio Arturo. A river Huge mountains, strolling clouds Of vibrations, the green, grey and blue. Poised with his sword A man behind, his trumpet ready Small, a minute bulge betraying his sex. Where was he looking to? Was so much tranquility possible By the red canon's side, and the dead man's face on this boots? She, looking into the distance, poor lady who gets in her hand a blank paper Awaiting the time of his arrival, thinking Of those nights between his legs. Thousands of men and women waiting for who knows what from destiny. Looking toward us, an old for, a line cowed with Umbrellas, crutches, hands in mouths, ponchos bearing The two O'clock sun. Covered with a black shawl, as grand mothers, leg and braid Arched, cities, domes, old windows, aged from watching the passage of man. Youthful eyes, youthful bodies on the modern straw mats The caribbean sea, the strong green, domes, miseries, solitudes. In any square two youths look into each other Beyond the heart Their arms and groins In any room One body joins another To stay. Clothing comes off The simplest of signs is understood Not knowing what they want Whether it is the flesh they are seeking, or Just friendship, or The world's solitude Bodies to which cleanliness does not matter Water and perfume are unnecessary The flesh always demands more than smell Or the painting of the face The eyes demand more than any hand The phallus and the vagina know a Stronger, harsher, more demanding language. Ancestors Relatives from way back Drifting in gold rafts Dreams bringing misfortune. Ignoring everything, They built pain, defeat, and fire burning their feet. Bird shapes, bird beaks, bird skins Angry faces, wrinkled, invisible teeth showing Astral heads, loaded with sparkling nuggets Earrings piercing respiration, earrings smaller than the wounded ear At the place where they were, a boy and his dog play Both of them, master and beloved, watch A ball of hide suspended in the blue air. Or these, wearing their inherited wool from Ruan Daughter by the hand, son on her hips, wind blowing their hair Poor things, beautiful faces, balconies, balconies, Street corners crowded with memories. You saw him Well into the morning The dirty bar, the hungry drunkards. The words "do not go" were enough: And yielded the body to the many pleasures Without soul morality or conditions Knowing we had seen each other We knew the hips the pleasant kiss Delicious ears, legs raised leaving vacant the spot Where a phallus knows how to caress. Earth of ours Worked in vain and for a few Rivers and ports flooded with sun Wretched clothing wretched feet Rivers as knives wounding the earth Huge breasts of Indian women, strong bellies of Indian women Breasts, breasts, like mountains of hunger that children do not suck Smiling, absorted Yaunas, patient, laborious Erecting their houses weaving their misery with vegetable fibers Orchids, red dates, laurels of victory that only you can see. Night monkeys, ant bears, herons, tigers, boas. Pensive tortoises, chigüiros - fellow creatures of the world of teeth Earth that yields nothing And sex nevertheless Huge breasts, breasts, phalluses as big as macaws Phalli, phalluses, sperm that is born and dies in a moment. At an unnecessary beginning you talk about yourself Vein of the tongue that never stops Misery of the navel that does not stop the course of life Heart, acorn of the brain You talk about yourself Because you are not. Translated by Rowena Hill