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

The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker.

In you is the illusion of each day. You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. You undermine the horizon with your absence. Eternally in flight like the wave.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling.

I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.

Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.

What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?