You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table.

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

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

I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream.

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

For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.