In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?

Then I speak to her in a language she has never heard, I speak to her in Spanish, in the tongue of the long, crepuscular verses of Díaz Casanueva; in that language in which Joaquín Edwards preaches nationalism. My discourse is profound; I speak with eloquence and seduction; my words, more than from me, issue from the warm nights, from the many solitary nights on the Red Sea, and when the tiny dancer puts her arm around my neck, I understand that she understands. Magnificent language!

The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

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

But from each crime are born bullets that will one day seek out in you where the heart lies.

I love you as one loves certain dark things.

The bare earth, plantless, waterless, is an immense puzzle. In the forests or beside rivers everything speaks to humans. The desert does not speak. I could not comprehend its tongue; its silence...