We have leapt from the belly of our mother, or from the edge of a star,
and we're falling...
Here's your parachute, Man, wonderful as vertigo.
Here's your parachute, Poet, wonderful as the charms of the chasm.
Here's your parachute, Magician, which one word of yours can trans-
form into a parashoot, wonderful as the lightening bolt that tries to blind
What are you waiting for?
But here is the secret of the Gloom that forgot how to smile.
The parachute waits tied to the gate like the endlessly runaway horse.
from Altazor, by Vicente Huidobro Tr. Eliot Weinberger