“If I told you the whole story it would never end...What's happened to me has happened to a thousand woman.”

“Never let me lose the marvelof your statue-like eyes, or the accentthe solitary rose of your breathplaces on my cheek at night.I am afraid of being, on this shore,a branchless trunk, and what I most regretis having no flower, pulp, or clayfor the worm of my despair.If you are my hidden treasure,if you are my cross, my dampened pain,if I am a dog, and you alone my master,never let me lose what I have gained,and adorn the branches of your riverwith leaves of my estranged Autumn.”

“The round silence of night,one note on the staveof the infinite.Ripe with lost poems,I step naked into the street.The blackness riddledby the singing of crickets:sound,that deadwill-o'-the-wisp,that musical lightperceivedby the spirit.A thousand butterfly skeletonssleep within my walls.A wild crowd of young breezesover the river.- Hour of Stars (1920)”

“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”

“There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.”

“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.”

“¡Ay qué trabajo me cuesta, quererte como te quiero!”