Agosto en Tucumán

When in Tucumán
August settles in
And the sun through the planks
Its brightness
Darkens in the burning fields...

Inside the sugar cane field
The machete whistles
Its crumbling light,
And the peeler
Bleeds out like the cane...

And further back
The mill grinds
Blood from the sugar mills
For the alcohol
Sleepless from the bars...

Through a gray cloud
The chimneys bloom,
The sun is fading
For the blush
Ignited by the lapachos...

And towards the evening
The peelers return
Sad, forgetful
And the alley,
Pure shadow erases them...

And further back
The mill grinds
Blood from the sugar mills
For the alcohol
Sleepless from the bars...