The Bullfight
Translated by Mark Schafer
I wash the anointed cutlery again and again.

I wash the blades and also
the prefiguration of the blood.

I wash the transformations of the wound.

The sand, the sand.  Oh love, the sea, a pair of forearms.

I wash the almond eye of sexual desire
and the festival’s whirling music
with a rag of noise.

I wash a foot, a hand.

The sea, the sea, brimming with images.
Oh, the wind, its fierce undulations.

I wash the end and the beginning,
time and eternity.

I wash the bull’s muscles
and its heroic shadow oozing out.

I wash the body of love with the immaculate water of suffering

and likewise wash the faces
with the lustrous blessing of wisdom.
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