Nobody can claim the name of Pedro, nobody is Rosa or María, all of us are dust or sand, all of us are rain under rain. They have spoken to me of Venezuelas, of Chiles and Paraguays; I have no idea what they are saying. I know only the skin of the earth and I know it has no name.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body... and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.

Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.

Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.