Piedra negra sobre una piedra blanca [English translation]

I will die in Paris with a rainstorm,

on a day I already remember,

I will die in Paris - and I don't shy away -

perhaps on a Thursday, as today is, in autumn.

It will be Thursday, because today, Thursday, as I prose

these lines, I've put on my humeri in a bad mood,

and, today like never before, I've turned back,

with all of my road, to see myself alone.

César Vallejo has died; they kept hitting him,

everyone, even though he does nothing to them,

they gave it to him hard with a club and hard

also with a rope; witnesses are

the Thursday days and the humerus bones,

the solitude, the rain, the roads...