If you no longer live, if you my beloved, my love, if you have died, all the leaves will fall in my breast, it will rain in my soul night and day, the snow will burn my heart, I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow, my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall live

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

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.

For now I ask no more Than the justice of eating.

When I got the chance I asked them a slew of questions. They offered to burn me; it was the only thing they knew.

If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life

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.