I opened my veins. Unstoppably life spurts out with no remedy. Now I set out bowls and plates. Every bowl will be shallow. Every plate will be small. And overflowing their rims, into the black earth, to nourish the rushes unstoppably without cure, gushes poetry.

And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.

What is the main thing in love? to know and to hide. To know about the one you love and to hide that you love. At times the hiding (shame) overpowers the knowing (passion). The passion for the hidden - the passion for the revealed.

I am a moonbeam, free to go whenever I choose.

My favorite mode of communication is in the world beyond: a dream, to see in a dream. My second favorite is correspondence.

Women talk about love and silent about lovers, men - on the contrary: Speaking of mistresses, but are silent about love.

My verses are my diary. My poetry is a poetry of proper names.