In the balmy night, in the night,
when the leaves rise until they are the stars,
I hear the women grow in the mauve penumbra
and the falling of the shade from their lids, drop by drop.

I hear the broadening of their arms in the penumbra
and I could even hear the breaking of an ear of wheat in the field.

A word sings in my heart, whispering
green leaf falling without end. In the balmy night,
when the shade is the unrestrained growing of the trees,
a long dream of prodigious journeys kisses me
and there is in my heart a great light of sun and marvel.

In the midst of a night with a murmur of forest
like the very light noise of a falling star,
I woke in a dream of trembling golden ears of wheat
beside the nubile body of a sweet brunette,
as at the edge of a sleeping valley.

And in the night of leaves and murmuring stars,
I loved a country, and it is from its dark slime
a scarce portion the bitter heart;
I loved a country that for me is a maiden,
a deep murmur, an endless flow, a soft tree.

I loved a country and from it I brought a star
which is a wound in my side, and I brought
a woman's scream from within my flesh.

In the balmy night, young and soft night,
when the high leaves are already light, eternal . . .

But if your body is earth from where the shade grows,
if already in your eyes big stars fall endlessly,
what shall I find in the valleys that ruffle brief wings?
what fire shall I look for without days or nights?

Translation: 2004, Raúl Jaime Gaviria