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

In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

Then I speak to her in a language she has never heard, I speak to her in Spanish, in the tongue of the long, crepuscular verses of Díaz Casanueva; in that language in which Joaquín Edwards preaches nationalism. My discourse is profound; I speak with eloquence and seduction; my words, more than from me, issue from the warm nights, from the many solitary nights on the Red Sea, and when the tiny dancer puts her arm around my neck, I understand that she understands. Magnificent language!

The hardest way of learning is that of easy reading.

I am made of earth, and my song made of words.

In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood.

Love is a clash of lightnings