by Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz （Translated by Jaime Manrique and Joan Larkin）

    Love opened a mortal wound.

    In agony， I worked the blade

    to make it deeper. Please，

    I begged， let death come quick.

    Wild， distracted， sick，

    I counted， counted

    all the ways love hurt me.

    One life， I thought a thousand deaths.

    Blow after blow， my heart

    couldn't survive this beating.

    Then how can I explain it？

    I came to my senses. I said，

    Why do I suffer？ What lover

    ever had so much pleasure？