I don't decide to represent anything except myself. But that self is full of collective memory.

I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold

I believe in the power of poetry, which gives me reasons to look ahead and identify a glint of light.

My love, I fear the silence of your hands.

Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.

And what I don't understand I grasp it only when it's too late.

Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?