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？

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