At night I dream that you and I are two plants
that grew together, roots entwined,
and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth,
since we are made of earth and rain.

Girl lithe and tawny, the sun that forms
the fruits, that plumps the grains, that curls seaweeds
filled your body with joy, and your luminous eyes
and your mouth that has the smile of the water.
A black yearning sun is braided into the strands
of your black mane, when you stretch your arms.
You play with the sun as with a little brook
and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes.

I need the sea because it teaches me.

Is 4 the same 4 for everybody? Are all sevens equal? When the convict ponders the light is it the same light that shines on you?

Naked you are blue like the night in Cuba,
you have vines and stars in your hair,.

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.

In this part of the story I am the one who
dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?

Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.

Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood in the tunnel of sleeplessness.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.

I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.

The moon lives in the lining of your skin.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

Your house sounds like a train at midday,
the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing,
the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew.

I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done.

Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.

From that terrible love the soft pure hands
gave peace to my eyes and sun to my senses.