from The Black Heralds by César Vallejo

And man . . .Poor . . . poor man! He turns his eyes, as
when a slap on the shoulder calls us by name;
he turns his crazed eyes, and everything he’s lived
wells up, like a pool of guilt, in his gaze.

There are blows in life, so powerful . . . I don’t know!

translated by Rebecca Seiferle

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