En mi pecho se agita sonámbula una sierpe de besos antiguos...- In my breast a snake that won't sleep but quakes with old kisses...

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the
fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly 
spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.