Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?

I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.

Love is the mystery of water and a star.

Tomorrow we will only give them a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love.

And I watch my words from a long way off. They are more yours than mine. They climb on my old suffering like ivy.

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.

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