This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
The meaning of poetry has no sureness of direction; is like the sling, it is not under control.
These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.
There is a way between voice and presence, where information flows. In disciplined silence it opens; with wandering talk it closes.
Only love itself can explain love and lovers.
Love is an emotion. Totally silent and inexpressible with words.