“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.”

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

“And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.”

“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.”

“Amor"So many days, oh so many daysseeing you so tangible and so close,how do I pay, with what do I pay?The bloodthirsty springhas awakened in the woods.The foxes start from their earths,the serpents drink the dew,and I go with you in the leavesbetween the pines and the silence,asking myself how and whenI will have to pay for my luck.Of everything I have seen,it's you I want to go on seeing:of everything I've touched,it's your flesh I want to go on touching.I love your orange laughter.I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.What am I to do, love, loved one?I don't know how others loveor how people loved in the past.I live, watching you, loving you.Being in love is my nature.You please me more each afternoon.Where is she? I keep on askingif your eyes disappear.How long she's taking! I think, and I'm hurt.I feel poor, foolish and sad,and you arrive and you are lightningglancing off the peach trees.That's why I love you and yet not why.There are so many reasons, and yet so few,for love has to be so,involving and general,particular and terrifying,joyful and grieving,flowering like the stars,and measureless as a kiss.That's why I love you and yet not why.There are so many reasons, and yet so few,for love has to be so,involving and general,particular and terrifying,joyful and grieving,flowering like the stars,and measureless as a kiss.”

“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”

“I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you willdo me irreparable harm. Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.”