Morado is a color I learned
in Barcelona and the phrase:
pasarlas moradas:
to have a bad time of it.
A bandolero across
your girlish chest,
your silhouette posed
against the slowing sky,
dead from a sniper bullet
shot at great distance;
rough as a garden weed
Spanish to the touch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem