All Night I Have Suffered; All Night

I Have A Faithful Joy And A Joy That Is Lost. One Is Like A Rose, The Other, A Thorn. The One That Was Stolen I Have Not Lost.

Let The Earth Look At Me, And Bless Me, For Now I Am Fecund And Sacred, Like The Palms And The Furrows.

Speech Is Our Second Possession, After The Soul-and Perhaps We Have No Other Possession In This World.

My Grief And My Smile Begin In Your Face, My Son.

In The Secret Of Night, My Prayer Climbs Like The Liana, My Prayer Is, And I Am Not. It Grows, And I Perish. I Have Only My Hard Breath, My Reason And My Madness. I Cling To The Vine Of My Prayer. I Tend It At The Root Of The Stalk Of Night.