From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.

I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces of the daybreak in my breast.

Sufre mas el que espera siempre que aquel que nunca espero a nadie? Does he who is always waiting suffer more than he who’s never waited for anyone?

Place gifts of silver in our hands. Give us this day our daily fish.

My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.

And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table.

While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.