“Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it,comes and shouts with no mouth,with no tongue,with no throat.Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.”

“I Like For You To Be StillI like for you to be stillIt is as though you are absentAnd you hear me from far awayAnd my voice does not touch youIt seems as though your eyes had flown awayAnd it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouthAs all things are filled with my soulYou emerge from the thingsFilled with my soulYou are like my soulA butterfly of dreamAnd you are like the word: MelancholyI like for you to be stillAnd you seem far awayIt sounds as though you are lamentingA butterfly cooing like a doveAnd you hear me from far awayAnd my voice does not reach youLet me come to be still in your silenceAnd let me talk to you with your silenceThat is bright as a lampSimple, as a ringYou are like the nightWith its stillness and constellationsYour silence is that of a starAs remote and candidI like for you to be stillIt is as though you are absentDistant and full of sorrowSo you would've diedOne word then, One smile is enoughAnd I'm happy;Happy that it's not true”

“Your house sounds like a train at midday,the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing,the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew . . .”

“In you is the illusion of each day.You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers.You undermine the horizon with your absence.Eternally in flight like the wave.”

“I should like to sleep like a cat,with all the fur of time,with a tongue rough as flint,with the dry sex of fire;and after speaking to no one,stretch myself over the world,over roofs and landscapes,with a passionate desireto hunt the rats in my dreams.”

“The morning is full of stormin the heart of summer.The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye,the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands.The numberless heart of the windbeating above our loving silence.Orchestral and divine, resounding among the treeslike a language full of wars and songs.”

“Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks"All those men were there inside, when she came in totally naked. They had been drinking: they began to spit. Newly come from the river, she knew nothing. She was a mermaid who had lost her way. The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh. Obscenities drowned her golden breasts. Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears. Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes. They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs, and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor. She did not speak because she had no speech. Her eyes were the colour of distant love, her twin arms were made of white topaz. Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light, and suddenly she went out by that door. Entering the river she was cleaned, shining like a white stone in the rain, and without looking back she swam again swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.”