There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.

What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?

Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.

Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist summit, drops of when and how, vague comings and goings: between lips and lips as along a shore of sand and glass the wind passes.

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

Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?

All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.