The stars had only one task: they taught me how to read.They taught me I had a language in heavenand another language on earth.

I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them asingle word: Home.

Be my lover between two wars waged in the mirror, she said.I don't want to return now to the fortress of my father's house.Take me to your vineyard.Let me meet your mother.Perfume me with basil water.Arrange me on silver dishes, comb me, imprison me in your name,let love kill me.

Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.

I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold

Don’t say that poetry, my friend, is beautifulor powerfulfor there is no powerful or beautiful poetryThere is poetry that strikes you, secretlywith the diseases of writing and schizophrenia, and you raveand your self leaves you for another

I see what I want of Love... I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place... I see what I want of people: their desire to long for anything, their lateness in getting to work and their hurry to return to their folk... and their need to say: Good Morning...

the poem is a dice throwon a patch of darknessthat may or may not glow

Have I had two roads, I would have chosen their third.