I've come within range of hate. Terrifying, its tremors, its dizzying obsessions. Hate's like a swordfish invisible in the water, knifing suddenly into sight with blood on its blade- clear water misleads you.

Fue adondo a mi me perdieron quw logre por fin encontrarme? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?

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

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

I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees

You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.