I move in the university of the waves.

If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life

I should like to sleep like a cat, with all the fur of time, with a tongue rough as flint, with the dry sex of fire; and after speaking to no one, stretch myself over the world, over roofs and landscapes, with a passionate desire to hunt the rats in my dreams.

And that's why i have to go back to so many places there to find myself and constantly examine myself with no witness but the moon and then whistle with joy, ambling over rocks and clods of earth, with no task but to live, with no family but the road.

While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.

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

Hands make the world each day.