I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.

I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to my versesand my heart is closinglike a fist.

In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again whom we love.

Love is not gentle,like the dust of a room;love is a thing that happensin a room, and becomes dust.

Andalways embrace things, people earthsky stars, as I do, freely and withthe appropriate sense of space.

The winds will wash you out your hair, my dears.Passions will become turrets, to you.

I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and breath.

You are the sick prince of my cerise innovations and in your drowning caresses I walk the sea