Always in a foreign country, the poet uses poetry as an interpreter.

Only what touches us closely preoccupies us. We prepare in solitude to face it. (The Little Book of Unsuspected Subversion)

As long as we are not chased from our words we have nothing to fear. As long as our utterances keep their sound we have a voice. As long as our words keep their sense we have a soul.

One wound is enough to feed the open wounds of the sky.

What is not grasped has all the chances to become real.

Wound me . . . I can only feed on my humiliated blood.

We do not truly speak except at a distance. There is no word not severed.