Let the earth look at me, and bless me, for now I am fecund and sacred, like the palms and the furrows.
I have a faithful joy and a joy that is lost. One is like a rose, the other, a thorn. The one that was stolen I have not lost.
Love beauty it is the shadow of God on the universe
The poet is an untier of knots, and love without words is a knot, and it drowns.
Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best.
I have all that I lost and I go carrying my childhood like a favorite flower that perfumes my hand.