The Snow Is Falling On The Deserted

The Moon Carries The Masks Of Meningitis Into Bedrooms, Fills The Wombs Of Pregnant Women With Cold Water And, As Soon As I'm Not Careful, Throws Handfuls Of Grass On My Shoulders.

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!

The World Is A Shoulder Of Dark Meat (black Flesh Of An Old Mule). And The Light Is On The Other Side.

The Gitano Is The Most Distinguished, Profound And Aristocratic Element In My Country, The One That Most Represents Its Way Of Being And Best Preserves The Fire, The Blood And The Alphabet Of Andalusian And Universal Truth.

To See You Naked Is To Recall The Earth.