The Poet to His Lover
My love, on that night you were crucified
on the two curved cross-beams of my kiss;
your torment told me of how Jesus cried,
and of a passion even sweeter than this kiss.
On that lucid night when our gazes collided,
Death sang in his bones and was full of bliss,
on that September night, over which presided
my second fall from grace, and our all-too-human kiss.
My love, we will die close together, in each other’s grips;
this bitterness between us will wither and fade
and the shadows will marry our lifeless lips.
No more displeasure will your holy eyes keep;
I’ll offend you no longer. And in one, shared grave,
like brother and sister, you and I will sleep.
César VallejoTranslated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2014