I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.

I love you as one loves certain dark things.

I stood on the balcony dark with mourning... hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love.

I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood.