Three creatures stand between pain and pleasure,
the first of them looks at a wall,
the second uses its sad spirit
and the third tiptoes;
but only the second kind
exists between you and me.

Leaning on my forehead, the day
agrees that, in fact,
there is much precision in space;
but, if bliss, which, after all, has its size,
emerges -ow! - from my mouth,
who will ask me for my word?

This encounter vested in black thread
matches
with an instant sense of eternity,
but with your passing farewell,
only the immutable matches--
your creature, the soul, my word.

-- César Vallejo
translated by epanastatis