There is no space wider than that of grief.

Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.

Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude.

Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.

White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul You live again in time, slender and silent.

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.

Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.