And I watch my words from a long way off. They are more yours than mine. They climb on my old suffering like ivy. It climbs the same way on damp walls. You are to blame for this cruel sport. They are fleeing from my dark lair. You fill everything, you fill everything. Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy, and they are more used to my sadness than you are. Now I want them to say what I want to say to you to make you hear as I want you to hear me.

Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?

Como se reparten el sol en el naranjo las naranjas? How do the oranges divide up sunlight in the orange tree?

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Sonnet XXV Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: I wavered through the streets, among Objects: Nothing mattered or had a name: The world was made of air, which waited. I knew rooms full of ashes, Tunnels where the moon lived, Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost', Questions that insisted in the sand. Everything was empty, dead, mute, Fallen abandoned, and decayed: Inconceivably alien, it all Belonged to someone else - to no one: Till your beauty and your poverty Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.

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

And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion?