They wheel me to the operating room.
Before the anesthetic overpowers me,
I hear the nurse say,
“I never saw anyone fight so hard.”
I am a quiet fighter
given to pursuing phantoms,
formidable enemies.
This time, I survive
my loss of consciousness,
and go forth, like Don Quixote,
to tilt again at windmills.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem