La treizième revient...c’est encor la première; et c’est toujours la seule-ou c’est le seul moment; car es-tu reine, ô toi, la première ou dernière? es-tu roi, toi le seul ou le dernier amant? Gérard de Nerval, Arthèmis Un sauce de cristal, un chopo de agua, un alto surtidor que el viento arquea, un árbol bien plantado mas danzante, un caminar de...Learn More

Your hair is lost in the forest, your feet touching mine. Asleep you are bigger than the night, but your dream fits within this room. How much we are who are so little! Outside a taxi passes with its load of ghosts. The river that runs by is always running back. Will tomorrow be another day?...Learn More

I turn the page of the day, writing what I'm told by the motion of your eyelashes. I enter you, the truthfulness of the dark. I want proofs of darkness, want to drink the black wine: take my eyes and crush them. A drop of night on your breast's tip: mysteries of the carnation. Closing my eyes I open them inside your eyes. Always awake on its...Learn More

I am a man: little do I last and the night is enormous. But I look up: the stars write. Unknowing I understand: I too am written, and at this very moment someone spells me out....Learn More

Beautiful face That like a daisy opens its petals to the sun So do you Open your face to me as I turn the page. Enchanting smile Any man would be under your spell, Oh, beauty of a magazine. How many poems have been written to you? How many Dantes have written to you, Beatrice? To your obsessive illusion To your manufactured fantasy. But today I...Learn More

Listen to me as one listens to the rain, not attentive, not distracted, light footsteps, thin drizzle, water that is air, air that is time, the day is still leaving, the night has yet to arrive, figurations of mist at the turn of the corner, figurations of time at the bend in this pause, listen to me as one listens to the rain, without listening,...Learn More

Through the conduits of blood my body in your body spring of night my tongue of sun in your forest your body a kneading trough I red wheat Through conduits of bone I night I water I forest that moves forward I tongue I body I sun-bone Through the conduits of night spring of bodies You night of wheat you forest in the sun you waiting water you...Learn More

Between going and staying the day wavers, in love with its own transparency. The circular afternoon is now a bay where the world in stillness rocks. All is visible and all elusive, all is near and can’t be touched. Paper, book, pencil, glass, rest in the shade of their names. Time throbbing in my temples repeats the same unchanging syllable of...Learn More