Mazurca de Dámaso

The afternoon goes
bucking,
and the night
has nailed
two spurs.

From another time
he appears:
his machete
combing
the fields.

Come see Dámaso
dancing a mazurka, yeah.
How he stomps, damn,
over his grave!

Come see Dámaso
dancing a mazurka.
He's coming in swaggering, damn,
to get wasted!

With the fire
of a memory
how the tuning fork
of his bones
vibrates!

Every night,
with the shadow,
you hear a dance
at the back of the
cemetery.

Come see Dámaso.