Things are better in Milan.

Things are a lot better in Milan.

My adventure has sweetened.

I met a girl and a poet.

One of them was dead

and one of them was alive.

The poet was from Peru

and the girl was a doctor.

She was taking antibiotics.

I will never forget her.

She took me into a dark church

consecrated to Mary.

Long live the horses and the sandles.

The poet gave me back my spirit

which I had lost in prayer.

He was a great man out of the civil war.

He said his death was in my hands

because I was the next one

to explain the weakness of love.

The poet was Cesar Vallejo

who lies at the floor of his forehead.

Be with me now great warrior

whose strength depends solely

on the favours of a woman.