is there not in the soul a different way to live the end of love?

I was walking looking at the sky 

and I fell on my nose. 

Now my whole body is bleeding. 

My knees, the air, my memories. 

My skirt was torn 

and I lost my earrings, my reason. 

 

Is there not in the soul 

a different way 

to live the end of love? 

 

[María Mercedes Carranza {1945-2003} 'Elegy', trans. from the Spanish by Nicolás Suescún]