The truth is that the poems are ecstatic.
There's always more to see.
The voice does go up in a poem. It is an address, even if it is to oneself.
We read, we travel, we become.
The word and the shadow of the word / makes a thing both itself and something else / till we are metaphors and not ourselves . . .
The sigh of History rises over ruins, not over landscapes, and in the Antilles there are few ruins to sigh over, apart from the ruins of sugar estates and abandoned forts.