[…] The centennial wine mash, the water is sprayed in the cellars.
The power of his arm and bronze shadow.
The window that chronicles her loves and remembers his last battle turns black every day a little more under the smoke of lamps fed a bad oil.
Like the roar of a siren that announces a scarlet boats of fish is the complaint of one who has loved more than any other,
one who left home to sleep against his sword slipped under the pillow and kiss her hard soldier belly.
Like the sails of a ship which swell or collapse, like the dawn dissipates the mist on airfields, Similar to the silent march of a man barefoot in a forest spread the news of his death,
the pain of his wounds open the evening sun, sans pestilence, but with every appearance of a spontaneous dissolution.
The whole truth is not in this story. Lack in words everything that formed the cataract of his life drunk, the scrolls sound of the best of his life that led the singing, his exemplary figure, his sins as so valuable coins, its effective and beautiful arms.
Excerpt from poem the Horseman appeared in Elements of disaster, Editions Grasset. day of tribute to Alvaro Mutis, extraordinary storyteller, great writer, formidable ami.