Translated by Judah Rubin
From El chico que se declaraba con la mirada (Lima: Asalto Al Cielo, 1988)
Ipa. Your mini-pool. The Theater. At the Santa Isabel roundabout, my black-haired head. Rock and roll. Between your thighs. Aquamarine pants and good little girl moccasins. Dreamer. Flyer. A strange taste for letters. Writing poems. One for tonight at 8. And boom there I am on the old sidewalks and swings and willows. Destroyed. Ana María Iparraguirre. Song that left off like wind at the airport. In the nothing of the next pages.