LXXIX
THE BLACK ANGEL

The black angel brushes my heart
with his wings, pulling me out of a dream
in which I am flying on a mad dash
through the sky on the back of Clavileño.

As I fall my poor forehead is hit by
the shock of an intractable truth,
as hard and unchangeable as a rock,
serving as a cruel lesson to our efforts.

Then, immersed in this bad mood,
the truth makes me hate my life, and I
begin to feel very frightened of myself;

but then you look at me with sympathy,
and your eyes bring back to me the magic
of the dream in which the truth is forgotten.