It is very hard to live with silence. The real silence is death and this is terrible. To approach this silence, it is necessary to journey to the desert. You do not go to the desert to find identity, but to loses it, to lose your personality, to be anonymous. You make yourself void. You become silence. You become more silent than the silence around you. And then something extraordinary happens: you hear silence speak.

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

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

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

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

In the morning, you tear up the pages of your fever, but every word naturally leads you back to its color, its night.

Through the ear, we shall enter the invisibility of things.