To Define Is To Kill. To Suggest

A Soul Trembling To Sit By A Hearth So Bright, To Exist Again, It’s Enough If I Borrow From Your Lips The Breath Of My Name You Murmur All Night.

Everything That Is Sacred And That Wishes To Remain So Must Envelop Itself In Mystery.

To Define Is To Kill. To Suggest Is To Create.

O Naked Flower Of My Lips, You Lie! I Await A Thing Unknown Or Perhaps, Unaware Of The Mystery And Your Cries You Give, O Lips, The Supreme Tortured Moans Of A Childhood Groping Among Its Reveries To Sort Out Finally Its Cold Precious Stones.

It Is The Job Of Poetry To Clean Up Our Word-clogged Reality By Creating Silences Around Things.