Never let me lose the marvelof your statue-like eyes, or the accentthe solitary rose of your breathplaces on my cheek at night.I am afraid of being, on this shore,a branchless trunk, and what I most...

Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death,but genuine pain doesn’t live in the spirit,nor in the air, nor in our lives,nor on these terraces of billowing smoke.The genuine pain that keeps everything awakeis a tiny,...

I know there is no straight road No straight road in this world Only a giant labyrinth Of intersecting crossroads

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

A confused labyrinth of smoky starsentangles my hopes,which are nearly faded

NOVIA. ¡Porque yo me fui con el otro, me fui! (Con angustia.) Tú también te hubieras ido. Yo era una mujer quemada, llena de llagas por dentro y por fuera,y tu hijo era un poquito...

My head is full of fireand grief and my tongueruns wild, piercedwith shards of glass.

The Little Mute BoyThe little boy was looking for his voice.(The king of the crickets had it.)In a drop of waterthe little boy was looking for his voice.I do not want it for speaking with;I...

Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montaña.

Don’t ask me any questions. I’ve seen how things that seek their way find their void instead.

At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A frail of lime ready prepared at five in the afternoon. The...

Julieta, la noche no es un momento, pero un momento puede durar toda la noche.

Variación / VariationsEl remanso de airebajo la rama del eco.El remanso del aguabajo fronda de luceros.El remanso de tu bocabajo espesura de besos.*The still waters of the airunder the bough of the echo.The still waters...

Vamos al rincón oscuro,donde yo siempre te quiera,que no me importe la gente,ni el veneno que nos echa.

Duerme, vuela, reposa: ¡También se muere el mar!

En la tarde lluviosami corazon aprendela tragedia otonalque los arboles lleuven.

Every SongEvery songis the remainsof love.Every lightthe remainsof time.A knotof time.And every sighthe remainsof a cry.

The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death,...

But hurry, let’s entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.

Stigmata of LoveA light which lives on what the flames devour,a grey landscape surrounding me with scorch,a crucifixion by a single wound,a sky and earth that darken by each hour,a sob of blood whose red...