Beyond myself, somewhere, I wait for my arrival.

because two bodies, naked and entwined,leap over time, they are invulnerable,nothing can touch them, they return to the source,there is no you, no I, no tomorrow,no yesterday, no names, the truth of twoin a single body, a single soul,oh total being...

This is perhaps the most noble aim of poetry, to attach ourselves to the world around us, to turn desire into love, to embrace, finally what always evades us, what is beyond, but what is always there – the unspoken, the spirit, the soul.

Mineral cactai,quicksilver lizards in the adobe walls,the bird that punctures space,thirst, tedium, clouds of dust, impalpable epiphanies of wind.The pines taught me to talk to myself.In that garden I learnedto send myself off.Later there were no gardens.

Стихи нельзя объяснить - только понять.

Каждый читатель - тот же поэт, каждое стихотворение - любое другое. Ни минуты не стоя на месте, поэзия никуда не спешит. В разговоре каждая фраза предвосхищает следующую: у этой цепи есть начало и конец. В стихах первая фраза содержит последнюю, как последняя - первую. Поэзия - единственный способ противостоять линейному времени, так называемому прогрессу.

У влюбленного в безмолвие поэта есть одно спасение - речь.

Poetry,like history, is made;poetry,like truth, is seen.

To reduce poetry to its reflections of historical events and movements would be like reducing the poet's words to their logical or grammatical connotations.