“If blue is dreamwhat then innocence?What awaits the heartif Love bears no arrows?”

“I sing your restless longing for the statue,your fear of the feelings that await you in the street.I sing the small sea siren who sings to you,riding her bicycle of corals and conches.But above all I sing a common thoughtthat joins us in the dark and golden hours.The light that blinds our eyes is not art.Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.”

“Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death,but genuine pain doesn't live in the spirit,nor in the air, nor in our lives,nor on these terraces of billowing smoke.The genuine pain that keeps everything awakeis a tiny, infinite burnon the innocent eyes of other systems.”

“The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.”

“A light which lives on what the flames devour,a grey landscape surrounding me with scorch,a crucifixion by a single wound,a sky and earth that darken by each hour,a sob of blood whose red ribbon adornsa lyre without a pulse, and oils the torch,a tide which stuns and strands me on the reef,a scorpion scrambling, stinging in my chest--this is the wreath of love, this bed of thornsis where I dream of you stealing my rest,haunting these sunken ribs cargoed with grief.I sought the peak of prudence, but I foundthe hemlock-brimming valley of your heart,and my own thirst for bitter truth and art.- Stigmata of Love”

“The river GuadalquivirFlows between oranges and olivesThe two rivers of GranadaDescend from the snow to the wheatOh my love!Who went and never returnedThe river GuadalquivirHas beards of maroonThe two rivers of GranadaOne a cry the other bloodOh my love!Who vanished into thin air”

“In the green morningI wanted to be a heart.A heart. And in the ripe eveningI wanted to be a nightingale.A nightingale. (Soul,turn orange-colored.Soul,turn the color of love.) In the vivid morningI wanted to be myself.A heart. And at the evening's endI wanted to be my voice.A nightingale. Soul,turn orange-colored.Soul,turn the color of love.- Ditty of First Desire”