Sur

San Juan and old Boedo, and all the sky,
Pompeya and beyond, the flood.
Your bride's mane in memory
And your name blooming in the farewell.
The blacksmith's corner, mud and pampa,
Your house, your sidewalk, and the ditch,
And a scent of weeds and alfalfa
That fills my heart anew.

South, wall and then.
South, a warehouse light.
You will never see me as you saw me,
Lying in the shop window and waiting for you.
I will never light up with the stars
Our march without quarrels
Through the nights of Pompeya.
The streets and suburban moons,
And my love and your window
Everything has died, I know.

San Juan and old Boedo, lost sky,
Pompeya and upon reaching the embankment,
Your twenty years trembling with affection
Under the kiss that I stole from you then.
Nostalgia for things that have passed,
Sand that life took away,
Sorrow of neighborhoods that have changed
And bitterness of the dream that died.