¡Pasionaria azul!,
yunque de mariposas.
¿Vives bien en el limo
de las horas?
(¡Oh poeta infantil,
quiebra tu reloj!)
Clara estrella azul,
ombligo de la aurora.
¿Vives bien en la espuma
de la sombra?
(¡Oh poeta infantil,
quiebra tu reloj!)
Corazón azulado,
lámpara de mi alcoba.
with a wig of mist
and brooks of tears.
My old black-poplar,
in a confusion of nightingales,
had been expecting
to lower its branches
into the grass
long before autumn
gilded it.
But the props
of my glances
were holding it up.
Old black-poplar, wait!
Don’t you sense the lacerated
timber of my love?
Stretch out on the meadow
when my soul crackles, my soul,
which a gale of kisses
and words
has left exhausted,
torn apart.