THE AGE OF THE CONDOR

Raquel Angel-Nagler

REMEMBERING P. NERUDA

CANTO GENERAL

In the beginning
There was no Adam, no Eve, no paradise for people,
There was no light,
God was dead.
There was no free will, there was no will, and nothing was free.
My continent, my land,
Lava, polished eyes of fire,
Rivers, polished eyes of depth,
Became the paradise of germs.
The germs of rot in a dead body, the paradise of flesh,
The germs of gangrene, of leprosy,
Carnivorous germs, the cry of flesh between the teeth,
Mad germs, the crazy laughter painted on the lips, like a circus of pain,
Germs of prey, specialized in tyranny,
Germs, merchants of men, they sell their bodies, their hands and what the hands do,.
The souls are too cheap, the souls are useless.
On their ships, old as pain, the pirate flag:
A skull with germs in the empty eyes,
A skull with germs in its endless tongue, they lick the rot.

There were men who drowned in gas chambers,
At day time or at night, night and day were the same.
The drowned, faceless, toothless,
The serial number of death in the dead skin.

My continent, the land of strong people, the strong past,
Became a long slow river,
With the rot of earth in its lips.
The river was thirsty.
Maybe the only god was the thirst.

***

THE HEIGHTS OF MACCHU PICCHU

Seeds fly towards the ten fingers of hunger in our mouth,
The hunger written in the genes.
In the air: petrol fields. The seeds walk over the tight rope of the fumes,
Like a circus of pain.
Life doesn't fly, it crawls on thousand feet, a mille pie, the miniscule turbulent feet,
Beneath, above earth.
The savage avalanche of time, pulsating beneath rocks made of eternities.
Gods hammer the thunders to the rocks,
Gods fall, like a rock, beneath the gravity of a thunder.
Who will guard the red tear of dawn,
The dawn that has all the dawns inside it?
Who will guard the lightning, chained to the height, chained to depth,
The lightning that passes through us?
Who will guard the secret organ of words, before words exhaust themselves?
Tongues are a compass that lost its north, fragments of words, fragments of silence float in a lost orbit. Who will guard the compass, who will guard the north?
Who will guard love, before the belly is exhausted, the tumultuous belly?
Who will guard the dream, the exquisite comet. The dream that fell too deep inside us?

***

Everything is time within time,
And man, who is he?
Rose of meteors, rose of stone, rose of teeth, innocent, cruel.
Famine: secret planet, familiar dog at your table.
The architecture of void chooses all the shapes of emotions, it draws you always deeper, you climb deep in order to be high.
Scrape the dew: the skin of life, the innards of the ancient fish in your body.
Give me back the body you sold, the markets of a slave, my markets.
Give me back my life.
Immense America,
Were you in the ancient caves, the caves of man and beast?
Were you a picture on their wall?
Were you a slave trader, a slave, or both?

***

There are ladders, more dream than stone, more memories than dream.
They lead you to Macchu Picchu,
Nest of man and stone,
Semen of man and stone,
Milk of man and stone.
The hills began before history began,
The dreams began before history began, the dreams of man.
In the shadows, the touch is the big magician,
It recognizes the hands, the stones, the dreams,
It brings star dust to star dust,
And I touch with vanished hands, things that have vanished:
Words, silences that speak., the dream in a womb.
Whatever is of earth returns to earth. earth counts everything.
Centuries of wind, gentle, Hurricanes, sweep the bog noise of stone.
Countries of people. People are borders, they are the big eraser of borders.

***
I walk, un-remembering, unremembered,
Into nights slippery with sound.
I forgot the furious laughter of man,
I roll into bodies, their secret sea,
I bring back the coral of blue blood.
I forgot the dimensions of time,
I forgot the carnivorous feathers, a condor , a human, the feathers that devour time,
That vomit used time on earth.
I see the bodies they sold. The bodies are a strange clarity, they sleep, on earth like a shroud,
The bodies that rise between time and time,
They know the time of the sea, the tide of man.
You will not emerge from the corals, the sunken time,
Your eyes that were made to weep, wouldn't weep the red tear of dawn.
You, tiller of hunger,
Potters give life to the clay,
Builders with the scaffoldings of a spider, with the safety net: the spider's poison.
All I have are words, they are crucified.
Tell me, labyrinth by labyrinth ,carcass by carcass, beast by beast,
If each of your deaths is the last death or the first,
And let me cry for those who cried for me.
Your hand, an open hand in the river, it gives water.
Your hand , an open hand, in the mine field beneath the wide feet of a question.
Your hand, an answer.

***

The war, mother of iron.
The star light: pollen of iron.
The hunger: the ten iron fingers in the mouth.
The shipwrecks: the deep sadness of iron.
The red burning sunrise: the vapor of iron.
Corals on the bottom of time, the rose of iron. Harpoons.
The pulsation of iron and blood in your veins, a storm, inaccessible,
The veins are open, the red iron.
The architecture of a day: a square, a window. The square light drowns in the square.
Thunders: leaves of iron and friction. An electrical autumn.
The star light, the long fingers, destination : human. Destination: life.

***

Your dead of common grave, the deepest, the most lonely,
A well that deepens because it dries,
As if it measured the dimensions of your thirst.
Your feelings, like a broken stone ,like an abyss of dust, like time.
You fell into many deaths,
There are not number enough to count them.
The forgetting, the dreams you are made of:
A comet that died somewhere is space. Space has no graves.
Even the 4th wall of loneliness didn't save you,
The emptiness has at least itself.
You stood there, the fingers of human spider,
Fingers that tear the four winds, like an iron feather,
Giant winds, collapsing in a web.
The spider fingers: poisoned words, poems, poisoned truths,
The fingers with so much death,
They gripped words with so much life.
One day, time will do the impossible,
It will roll back with all the precision of time.
You'll be in the cave again,
You'll step out of the cave for another first time,
It will be dawn, the red tear of dawn,
After so many tears, cosmic, human.

***

Death visits us in each finished motion,
In each gallop of autumn,
It feels like dust around the ten fingers of life,a shroud of dust.
Beyond the shroud:
A cave drowning in its depth, an avalanche of bones,
The sand castle of a child.
We die from inside out, like a slow addition:
The addition of the dark to the dark, each night more, the addition of time to time each moment.
Death sold and bought me, and yet, it was bankrupt:
The money was a dry tear. It was paper.
I never knew how to love nature:
The seasons, the resurrections that were also death.
I didn't know it was the only life available, the vastest,
A sphere of drunk star light , the shadow of the infinite.
I didn't know that when I was wandering
And all I had was my wounded indifference,
I didn't know I was not alone.
I died with the stars, I died with the light.
We were on time for death.
I die from inside out, like a wound,
The wound where pain hides, utterly visible.
The last glow of power,
The last drop of the Jordan,
That couldn't purify my pain.
The wound is void, and it is full:
The pain of a child, the sand castle of a child, somewhere deep,
Are bigger than his life,
And the cut innards of my soul, strips of death,
Spread on yesterday's newspapers,
The requiem of a wound.

***

The seed continues, stubborn, persistent,
In a world where nothing continues, not even continuity.
And the seed of man: dead stars, bruised stars, dusty.
He creases the infinite in a seed,
He creases his soul in all the shapes of pain,
And he kills. It became habit, science.
The tools of death: the hands of stone, of bronze.
Who keeps the veins open in the bodies he sells,
Who will guard the fire in the cave where we began,
The fire that began lit, wounded, wild, beautiful,
Who will guard the night in the deep recesses of a woman,
The raped depths.
In streets slippery with the motion of moments,
I wanted to postpone time, to make space,
To think all the thinkable, far, up to the unthinkable.
A thread of truth,
A thread of truth in the labyrinth of man and beast,
You need a thread to follow, to answers,
Maybe your hands continued the answers,
Maybe the questions continue in whatever exists.
What is human.
Which was the station zero of his journey,
Which was the line zero of his life,
How could he resist life beneath the line of zero.
In a street slippery with numbers
I measure the small infinites of life:
The holy repetitions of the motions of living, of the motions of loving,
And the repetitions measure themselves,
Each day more, each day better.

***

TWENTY LOVE POEMS AND ONE SONG OF DESPAIR

THE BODY OF A MAN ( THE BODY OF A WOMAN)
Body of man, your hairy sleeves leave you more naked.
The skin of your silence: rough, soft.
Body of bone, body of skin, the shape of power, the shape of the endless thirst.
The forest between your thighs, the humid moss,
And the root: innocent,, strong flesh. A weapon, an arrow in the moment before flight.
To survive yourself you forge her like a void,
The void in the deep recesses of a woman.
Inside the void you are man and woman,
Inside her you dissolve, and dissolving is uniting.
Inside the void you are endless.
Inside the void you don't know that the thirst is bigger than yourself,
That it is bigger than your life.

***

SO THAT YOU'LL HEAR ME
I watch my words from a corner of my silence.
My words are more your than mine.
My words were my solitude, now, you are.
You inhabit everything.
Your long white fingers, an exquisite necklace around my sadness, around my pain.
You inhabit everything,
But the absence is more mine than yours.
In order to say what I want to say, one mouth is not enough.
In order to hear what I want to say, two ears are not enough,
And it is sad that I've learned to hear so late, long after the words.
Come close,
As close as a breath, as the pause of time between two moments.
Come close
I want your fingers, the fingers white, long as star light, to touch what I want to say.
Come close,
I need to touch you in order to find my mouth. Your touch will find me,
I need it In order to find what you heard in what I couldn't say.
Your touch will find me.
Come close.

***

I REMEBER YOU THE WAY YOU WERE
I remember you the way you were last year.
You were a season. You were all the seasons.
Your body, the shy grey dreams continued the seasons.
I remember you the way you were.
You were the young forest between your thighs, the green blood pulsating in your veins.
You were the ivy climbing on the 4th wall, the wall of solitude.
The birds migrated in your eyes, they brought the sky into your eyes.
I remember you the way you were,
You were autumn. Leaves falling into your voice, your deep voice, always more silent.
And you were the seasons of the day.
You were the red tear of dawn,
You were the twilight, burning, burned.
You were the big sadness of the light.
I remember you the way you were.
Follow me, bring all your seasons.
Follow me
I don't have enough fire to burn, to be burned,
I don't have enough red dawn, enough tears.
Follow me.
Help me burn. Help me weep.
Follow be.

***

THE VASTNESS OF PINE
The vastness is small,
The rustle of a ripple of earth beneath a leaf,
The murmur of sand, invisible in its naked.
The vastness is slow.
The lazy play of a sun ray with your hours, with you: toy of life.
The vastness is light.
The shadows fall idle, like the gaze of the old.
The vastness cut by deep rivers.
In their flow I lost you, I found you, and I lost you again.
Be my anchor. My shipwreck will find you.
Be my water. My thirst will find you.
My lost one, my found one,
I'll find you, like the autumn leaf I saw.
A soft desire, rolling into the moist lips of the rain.

***

HERE I LOVE YOU
Here I love you,
In the small days, moments chase moments,
Moments repeat moments, in order to be different.
Here I love you
In a pause between two moments:
A line of light. You are still.
Here I love you,
Like a gaze
Where arrivals are departures,
Where departures are arrivals,
When you lie by me, moist from the sound of a distance.
Here I love you
In the illusion of a wave
That goes without parting,
That arrives without arriving.
Here I love you,
Drenched by an illusion, a wild dream.
Here I love you,
When the twilight is a slow struggle,
When slowness is hard work.
Here I love you,
At night, when the stars smash the dark,
When the stars blossom in the dark.
Here I love you,
When your fingers glow
In the interval between the long fingers of the starlight.
Here I love you,
In the cold light,
There is time in the fingers, there is time in the cold light,
There is the sadness of time in the fingers, in the light.

***
You are close,
And you are always further.
Here I love you,
They say that the 'here' signs the 'everywhere',
It signs your name.
Here I love you.

DRUNK WITH PINES
Summer maddens us.
The infinite days that continue and end,
When everything is burning the coal of suns and moons,
Beneath everything: the sound of salt, hardened by passion.
Find me
When my body moves in your body, a wave inside the deep recesses of your wave,
When your arms, two parallel translucent lines, do the impossible,
They look for their touch, they meet.
Find me
When the sea pulsates in your veins, the big sound of surf,
Like passion.
Find me
When the wind drowns your mouth with moist lips.
Find me
In your lunar madness, electric, magnetic orbits.
Find me
In the quiet hour, when the infinite ends in a day.
Find me
When there is nothing left
Except the solitude.
You are in my solitude. You are not my solitude.
Except the longing, the unfinished longing, unfinished like anything alive.
You are in my longing, you are my longing.
Find me.
***
WE HAVE LOST EVEN
When did we walk, your body by my body,
Invisible,
Black ink written on the night,
And I was in the window, watching us.
Where did you go, with whom,
When suddenly I longed for you, the unfinished longing, unfinished like anything alive.
You walk always towards there where the evening erases shapes,
Where the sunset celebrates fire and ash,
And I am here, still, like a statue,
You go on,
And each day, the distances are bigger, more infinite.
In a corner of the canvass
There is something that walks against time, invisible, a giant:,
I remember.
I remember your body walking by my body,
I remember the window, it was the window of a train,
I saw myself leaving.
Where were you, with whom,
When suddenly I longed for you,
To which evening did you bring the unfinished longing,
Which evening erased your shape.

***

TONIGHT I CAN WRITE
Nights are the time where sadness loves,
The stars: a shiver in the dark.
At night I feel, I remember.
I never knew how to be loved without loving,
I never knew how to love without being loved,
The hundred faces of pain.
There were separations in everything,
In the beginning of a gaze,
In the corner of a silence.
There was time in everything,
So change was in everything: the night, the stars, us.
When someone crosses the night,
He can never return the same.
We crosses, each one, his own night,
You are not the same, I am not the same, and love is not the same,
It has crossed the night too.
How were you before you crossed the night,
How will you cross the night with someone else,
How will you be again different,
How many 'you' exist, how many times you'll change.
How many times can you change,
Beyond seeing, beyond pain, beyond love, beyond recognition.
How many 'you' exist.

***

GIRL LITHE AND TAWNY

Girl, slender, joyous, a leaf full of sun.
You have the power of a leaf, you have the power of joy.
Girl, joy is power.
Your lips: the smile of a seedling, tender, green,
Your body flowing like a voice, like a leaf of wind.
Girl, around you, yesterday's rain.
It left two big puddles in your eyes, like the puddles of a child, the first sea.
Girl,
I look for you like a shade, dark, soothing, like a leaf of sun.
You are here, and my time has walked far, further than what you imagine,
Time, hunter of distances. You are here, you are far.
I don't know your name, yet, I sing it.
Your name: a leaf of sun.
Your name: green sister.
Slender girl, green sister, I sing you. Listen. Hear.

***

THINKING, TANGLING SHADOWS
Thinking, tangling shadows, untangling,
Drawing memories, erasing them, burning them.
Woman, you are far, further than memories..
Woman,
Woman, I began life long before you began,
I was a cry facing the sea, drowning.
I was as mad as drowning, as sad as drowning, as free as drowning,
I was as alone as drowning
Woman, where were you before you began,
Who were you before you began,
Were you a thought tangling and untangling shadows.
Woman, you are foreign as all I don't know.
Woman, you don't know how I burned when I drowned,,
A fire walking over the sea, like the last sun,
A fire that sparkled in the fish of time.
They burned, I burned. The fire was beautiful.
And I go on like the passion of fire, free as the fire, mad as the fire, alone as the fire.
Woman, you are far,
Further that what I forgot because I didn't resist remembering.
Woman,
Remembering chains me.

***

I HAVE GONE MAKING
I marked the map of your body with red crosses,
I crucified you like a saint, like a woman of love,
Like my longing.
I lived in a boat slippery with motion.
I longed for you like an anchor,
Somewhere between the sea and the soundless,
Somewhere between the motionless and the madness,
Somewhere between the blood in the veins of motion and the solid.
Between the lips and the words, something is always lost,
Between the lips and the words everything rains: solitude, pain.
And yet, in the fugitive rain something whispers,
Something shines like longing, like the sun in a raindrop.
I wanted to sooth you
To sing a lullaby to your sadness,
To draw a leaf in a green season,
But I don't know how to draw happiness on my canvass,
I don't know how to draw happiness on my silence.
There are no maps of your body,
Flee the maps.
There are no crosses on your flesh.
Flee the crosses,
There are no solid, still anchors.,.
Flee the anchors.
There is no lullaby to sadness.
Flee the lullaby.
And my longing, when it reaches purity:
Crucified in your body,
Crucified in your gaze,
Crucified like the tear of the blind.
Purity doesn't exist.
Flee the purity.

***

EVERYDAY YOU PLAY
Secret visitor.
You arrived like a mermaid in the water of time.
Every day you play with time, hide and seek, like a child,
Every .day, time finds you.
Every day time repeats your name in the song of a siren
Like a ship of arrivals, of departures.
I know there are no arrivals, no departures,
And yet, I wait for you.
I wait for you, like a memory that didn't happen yet.
There are so many legends inside you, so much past.
I loved you in the legend that began before you began.
I loved you in the past that began before you began.
Your body: coral, time drowned in your body.
Your body: mother of pearl.
Your body: mother of light.
I love your body, little mother.
Suddenly, the storm.
The sea rises to the sky.
There are boats in the sea,
There are boats in the sky,
There are no anchors left,
The wind kills the fish, floating, flying,
As if it was time.
It rains.
The rain is glass.
Everything is visible,
Everything is undressed as water.
The storm blows the world,
And there is nothing I can do against nature.
The storm blows the world
And yet, you are here.
There will always be a last question.
Be here. Wait.

***

I LIKE YOU TO BE STILL
Be silent like someone who is somewhere else,
Be sad like whatever is dying moment after moment.
You see my hand, a parallel line. My touch can't find you.
You look. Your eyes closed out, open in, like the fear of seeing.
You see me, like the tear of the blind.
You emerge from my solitude
Filled with what I remember, with what I forgot, with my longing.
You are in my solitude. You are not my solitude.
You are in what i remember. You are not a memory.
You are in my longing. You are my longing.
Let me enter the space that one enters always alone,
Let me enter your silence.
I don't know what your silence says, what it hears.
Let me use your silence to speak to you.
Your silence: simple, inexplicable as a breath.
Your silence: a wild animal in your breath.
Your silence is like the night. Motionless. The stars tearing the void.
Your silence: a corner to hide, like a child from questions.
Your silence: the only answer available.
Speak. One word is enough to tame your silence, to sooth the questions, to sooth the child.
I'll find you.
Speak, Your parallel arms stretched, like words, towards me. My parallel hands will meet you.
Open your eyes that were closed out,
Help me cry.
The fear of seeing hurts us.

***

IN MY SKY AT TWILIGHT ( INFLUENCED BY TAGOR)
At twilight
You are a shadow, you are a slender line of light,
A truce.
I gather your sadness: delicate autumns.
You enter the space where one enters always alone,
You enter my solitude, you enter my silence.
You are mine like my solitude, like my silence.
You: digger of depth.
My depth finds you like an ancient stone ,
The carving of what I remember on the stone.
You: the invisible line where sky and sea meet.
You: a boat moored to the sea, moored to the sky,
You are in my boat.
You are the song of a wave, the parting that is also arriving.
You are my song.
My song began in your sadness.
The shore begins in your sadness.

***

ALMOST OUT OF THE SKY
Wandering night, wandering sadness,
And you: woman who came from somewhere else,
How soft you walk over the shadows.
Woman, your hands continue in the ink writing the night,
Your hands continue the answers.
Your hands made of everything:
The questions of the moon in the water,
The pauses of the wind in the leaves,
The silence lit in the caves of the eye,
And the unfinished longing, the big survivor, like anything unfinished.
Woman, go far,
Your hands will continue the answers,
Your palms will keep the longing like a womb, like a seed of dawn.
Woman, go far, go far from my sadness.
There is autumn in my sadness, the anguish of a leaf,
There are the unfinished words, unfinished silences,
There are the eyes closed out, open in,
And I don't know what they see, what they remember.
Woman, go far.

***

WHITE BEE

White butterfly, fragile, strong,
Drunk with pollen, .drunk with infinites..
Your lips: your wings, they whisper white black passion, a flutter secret, clear.
Now you are silent, like someone who feels how time is exhausted in the infinite.
Your wings are closed, the eye painted on your wings are closed.
You are a line of light, so slender, a frozen tremble, a statue of a ray of sun.
Inside your closed wings: the deep recesses of a woman.
A drop of dawn falls over you, lit pollen,
Semen of life.
Open your wings.
It rains into my eyes, like the human sadness beneath everything, over everything..
Open your wings.
I don't have the courage to cry.

***

LEAVING INTO THE AFTERNOON
I leave into the evening,
I cast my empty net towards you.
Your body, pale, diaphanous, in the river,
Your eyes closed our, open in,
What do you see, what do you remember.
Open your eyes
I stretch my arms, I try to grasp time in the river,
I don't know what time it is in your time.
What do you see in your darkness,
Do you feel the moon in the water wrapped around you, soft, exquisite.
I lost you, I found you, I lost you again.
You were far, even when you were near.
Open your eyes.
Between us everything was unfinished,
Like the beginning of a motion, like a cigarette butt on the bed.
There were separations. Each moment left before the next came,
The pauses were absence.
Open your eyes.
I float towards you like the unfinished longing, like unfinished thirst.
I am close even when I am far.
Open your eyes.

***

THE LIGHT WRAPS YOU
You stand in front of the old clock of winter,
The surreal white.
And maybe the surreal exists because the real exists,
You revolve in its orbit. The cold is white.
The hours of fire continue the day.
The day wrapped in flames, morning ash, beautiful.
Your hands of fire continue the answers, the answers deepen in your hands,
And the huge tree of the night continues your void.
The void: mother of stars, semen of light.
In the depth of the void: the seed of a child. He is still infinite.
The seed of people that were once infinite.
And nothing is a root, nothing is free.
Everything is slave to the magnetic orbit .
Between autumn and autumn: the green that is grey.
Between the day before that is the day after ,
Between the void and the child,
The child, full of life, so rich with infinites, revolves too.
Between beginnings that are endless, and the end,
In the delicate gears of the clock.
Between dawn and the big sadness of the light.

***

THE SONG OF DESPAIR
Woman,
You emerged from my solitude, you were alone in my solitude, I left long ago.
Woman,
In you everything begins: the battle, the song, the traffic light on the way to the lost.
Woman,
You, digger of my depth, everything drowned in you: a cave of fog, time, the sea,
The longing, the stunned silence, the mute sadness. Everything learned how to breath water.
Woman,
I saw your tenderness, clear as water.
I guessed the tenderness, but the word behind the dam of teeth didn't know where to begin, where to go.
Woman, there was the solitude of roads,
How could you contain me in the cross of your arms .
Woman,
There was a common grave of tangled naked thighs, of undressed nights.
How could you contain all this nakedness.
Woman,
The separations were in everything, in each motion, in each silence, in each madness,
But the hour of the big departure, the time table was cold.
It was inexplicable. It was the pause between two moments, it was the interval between the long fingers of twilight.
It was farther than time, farther than longing, it was farther than ourselves.
Woman,
We didn't have the courage to part, we didn't have the courage to stay.

***

100 LOVE SONATES

MORNING
Slender girl,
Your name could be a stone,
A stone carved with endless dawns,
A stone carved with remembering and forgetting.
Slender girl,
Your name could be a star in the river above, beneath the stone,
A river in burning blue,
It could drown like a river in the sea,
The sea where rivers lose their name.
Slender girl,
Who will guard the stone in your name, the sky-sea in your name.
Who will guard the drop of dawn where your name began,
Who will guard your name.
Slender girl,
It's night. My shadows look for the shadow of your name,
My shadows dissolve in your shadows,
And dissolving is also uniting.
Slender girl,
I find you, beyond names: the dreaming shadows.
I find you,
There where names end and you begin.

***

Trains are solitude.
They travel to the nowhere alone.
And roads are solitude.
Men and women who forgot the name of what they feel, when they feel,
Who forgot the season when

*** the water blossoms.
Woman,
I was alone in my solitude,
I have to make my solitude big, much bigger,
To let others in, to let you in.
Woman,
You and I are together in our solitude,
Together beyond the train, beyond the roads.
Together. You are you and I am I, close as the pause between two moments
Woman, closeness is beautiful, closeness is hard work.
You and I had simply to learn how to love.
Woman,
Love is beautiful, love is hard work. There is nothing simple in loving.
Woman,
Remember the season when the water blossoms.

***

Why love, the big beautiful love, is pain.
Why does it burn the cold season of water inside me, the safe ice.
How did it arrive
Was there a traffic light at the end of the corridor,
A road sign among the closed silence of doors.
Woman,
Why love should be cruel, why should it shatter fences,
Why should it leave me undressed, almost naked, almost vulnerable.
Woman,
Wait for me, I feel you, I feel your touch deep beneath my skin, deep beneath what I remember, beneath what I forgot. I feel it as cruel as a shattered fence, as beautiful.
Woman,
Wait for me .

***

Young girl,
Your gaze climbed on the rock like a gazelle with a child's eye.
Your gaze: a wild scent on the ladder of a seasons.
Young girl,
I loved your child's eyes,
I loved your wild scent.
Young girl
We forgot how to count time,
We didn't know what time it is in our time,
We didn't know if time will repeat itself.
Young girl,
I never knew how not to expect,
To expect for myself, for you, for time.
They said that time waits for nothing,
And yet, in a pause between two moments, a line of light,
Time waited. You waited. I waited, and life waited,
Everything met in this line.
The pause was a line, and it was endless.

***

Even before I knew you, before I shaped your body,
I remember the colors climbing into your deep recesses.
I loved the clay, the softness that mould you,
I remember your shoes, your tiny shoes, like the shoes of a child,
Like the beginning of a journey.
Between your thighs: the big forest, the fruit gatherer.
I invented you. I invented love:
My continent of warm seasons, of sea storm.
I invented myself even before I knew you.

***

In the streets,
I lose myself, I find it, I lose it again.
The half open, half lit mouth of a woman,
A whisper behind the mouth, a whisper in front of it.
I find myself and I lose it in the whisper.
The sound of a distant rain drenches me,
The sound finds me, the sound loses me.
In the yard, the roots look for me,
And I find something deserted: the seedling of a child,
I go on, lost and found,
I carry the seedling of a child in my forgetting.
No one is ready for what he forgot.

***

I said: come with me.
The words were naked.
No one is ready for his nakedness,
No one is ready for the pain of nakedness, the naked teeth,
The dam of teeth is broken. It bleeds.
I repeated in my silence: come with me.
No one is ready for what his silence says.
No one is ready for what the silence is:
The last match in your match box. It burns.
I hhear you say: come with me.
It unleashed the fury of a flower, the sudden blossom,
It unleashed the fury of the fire in the last match.
No one is ready for love,
No one is ready for the fury of a sudden blossom.

***

Days made of earth, of roads that my shoes till and that till them.
Seasons made of colors.
Winter is white, as white as the flour of the sky.
Your motions melt in the air,
Your motions melt in the rain,
They drench your life.
Your eyes: the eyes of a child, bigger than his face, bigger than his life,
In your eyes reality rains:
The rainbow,visions, time, the horizon, dreams,
It drenches me.
In your eyes I see how close is life, how distant,
In your eyes I love the distances, I love the closeness.
In your eyes I love your eyes of a child.
In your eyes I know what a child sees, how he invents himself.
In your eyes I know only a child is not afraid to cry.

***

The wave breaks. The clarity breaks.
The sea is a handful of broken salt. Blue exquisite crystals.
White leaves fall from the tree of foam,
Beautiful wanderers, the tree of foam is the beginning and the end.
The tree is exquisite.
My beloved,
Inside you, the soft sand, demolished and rebuilt by the wave,
The closeness demolished and rebuilt,
Each moment from the beginning, each wave from the beginning.
In your fingers, the leaves of foams, I begin and the end each leaf from the beginning.

***

The waves repeat themselves in the sand.
Beautiful woman, the sea at your feet,
And yet you are a fleck of foam,
Alone in the sea.
Beautiful woman, a mermaid, a statue of surf.
Your thighs measure the sea,
Your deep recesses of a woman let the endless water in,
Let the water blossom. The deepest flower.

***

I search the liquid sound of your silence.
Woman, I am thirsty.
I want to drink the wave in your motion.
Woman, I am thirsty.
I look for the white stone of your thighs, a statue, a cover of a well.
Woman, I am thirsty.
I arrived up to the edge of the twilight, the dry shadows falling,
And I am still thirsty
Like the wild desert each one has somewhere deep.
Woman, I look for you.
You are in my thirst. You are my thirst.
You are the distant sound of water that moistens me.

***

The days: thick smell, crystals, of salt and light, crushing, un-crushing.
You: beautiful statue, your marble thighs open,
I touch their ancient night ,
My fingers: the long fingers of starlight. My fingers are infinite.
To love is a verb, not a noun, to love is a journey
In quiet water, in sudden storms of earth dust: the endless semen.
To love is to be defeated together
By the five winds of the world, by all the compasses,
Which is another way of triumph.
To love is to walk towards who you are, towards who you want to be,
Always more, always better.
To love is to feel your pulse in my pulse,
To feel it deep in your secret recesses, like a root of blood.

***

The fullness that surrounds your slim form
Is wool,
A shawl made of hands woven in wool, the exquisite cloth.
The lamb in your eyes, the wool in your hands, in your lips, in your words.
See me, touch me, speak to me.
The wool in your motions that begins each moment from the beginning, like softness.
The eyes of the lamb taught you the big innocence,
The calm thirst of the lamb taught you your the scent of a well, the deep language.

***

I love your fingers.
I measured them, they are as long as the fingers of dawn.
Some call you sun: the big innocence of light.
But I know the window to your fingers.
I see their journey: the small motions, I see in the window your motions
Where departure and arrival are the same sadness.
I love your small motions. Touch me.
When you weave your fingers in the cloth of moments, touch me.
I'll find you in the pauses between two moments,
I'll find you in the interval between two star fingers.
Touch me.

***

I love you because your body is a city of earth, stars, and sobs.
I love you because your eyes begin, each day from the beginning:
The birds, the trees, the shadows. Your eyes: soft glass.
You are among all the things that time erases: the cold moment.
You are among all the things where time is generous:
A stone, a temple of memories,
Where time is the longing, the endless longing.
You are in my memory. You are not a memory.
You are in my longing. You are my longing.

***

Your body: a cosmic plaza where worlds sit to drink wine.
I love the mad wine of your body.
Your fingers: the long fingers of starlight, a moment before the end, a moment before eternity.
See me
With the star dust in your fingers, see me like the tear of the blind.
Your veins pulse in all the engines of time.
Come close
Like the pause between two moments, like a pulse chasing a pulse.
Between your thighs, your secret recesses, a cosmic void:
Mother of stars, mother of light.
I'll come into you like a root, deep, drunk by light.
Feel me.

***

I love you the way some love small things.
I love you because small things are never really small.
You are small, you are big, I cannot measure your dimensions.
The height begins always in the depth.
I love you like a root, deep, invisible, semen of fruit.
Feel me.
I love you in the only way I know,
I love you without explaining, without words. Hear my silence.
And I love you when you are far and close,
As close, as far as the lips and the word that didn't leave yet ,
The word that waits, uncertain.
Say me.

***

You come like a woman, like water,
The tremble in your fluid skin.
You come like a woman, like water,
Your shape is a jag of water, your shape becomes a river, a watterfall.
You repeat the motions of water,
You become the same in order to be different.
Woman,
I see the repetitions, my eyes repeat you.
You come like a woman,
Like water from the mouth of the stone, the stone licks you.
You come like water, between your thighs a secret pool,
Between your thighs the wild scent of depth, like longing.
You are a river inside me.
Woman,
Come to me like a river, like the big tremble of water.
You are the wild scent of depth, of longing.
Woman, come to me like the scent, wild, unstoppable.

***

Woman,
You are the motion of a bee,
The pollen in the deep recesses of your thighs, the pollen, digger of depth.
Your golden flight is hard work,
Your golden flight is beautiful.
Woman,
There is a tremble in your sting, the sting is bigger than your fear, the big tremble.
Woman,
The pollen is light, the pollen is heavier than your body, heavier than your life.
Woman,
You lie by me, moist by the sounds of a distant sea.
You lie by me, the smell of the world in your skin.
Woman,
You are the power of a bee, and you are a toy of life, eternal.

***

Woman,
Life is not a tidy place.
Your hair; a knot of winds.
Your hair is strange, it is beautiful.
Woman,
Your lips closed out, open in.
What do they say, what do they remember.
Your lips are strange. They are beautiful.
Woman,
Time consumes itself in your milk.
Your breasts: a sliver of moon.
Your breasts are strange. Your breasts are beautiful.
Woman,
There is a feather beneath your wrinkles, there is iron.
Your wrinkles are light and heavy.
They are strange. They are beautiful.
Woman,
I counted your body. I love what I counted,
I loved the uncountable.

***

All that you love makes you more beautiful.
I love all that you love.
Your lips closed out, open in,
I love what your silence says, what it remembers.
I kiss your silence.
My beloved,
I sold my hands long ago because I had nothing else to sell.
Let me use your hands, let me touch you with your hands,
Let me touch your night hands: a spark of dark light.
My beloved,
There are days I am a child,
I don't fear weeping, and I fear.
Help me weep.

***

There is nothing here but quantities and dimensions.
Everything is a number, eve the infinite.
You rise, like the infinite,
There where the night is sky,
There where the night is sea.
There are no borders in the blue fires.
You rise, like the infinite,
There where the wind is color: flowers of mist,
There where the stars fall like leaves.
Your body rises
In the pause between air and air,
There where eyes flow, wind inside wind.
My beloved,
There are no borders.
Everything melts into each other, like longing.
There are no borders for longing.

***

Before I loved you
The nothing was real, the only reality available.
Before I loved you
There was the holocaust of empty rooms, the floors of ash,
Of corridors, the silence that shut doors,
There was no traffic light in the corridor, and yet, they were closed.
Before I met you,
The answers were air, the questions were wind. They were the same.
I met you slowly,
Slowly you saved me with your pain, with your sadness.
My beloved,
There are tears that are water,
There are tears that are gifts.
I loved your gifts. I needed them more than anything else.
My beloved,
You helped me weep,
You let me love.

***

I find you again and again,
I recognize you again and again,
Like a memory that was a child. Eternal.
Nothing can change you, you belly of earth,
Nothing except time.
You: the fields. The big table of bread.
You: the mountains, the murderous height.
You: the avalanche of the past in a glacier.
Nothing can change you my country, except people.
Nothing can wound you, except people.
Nothing can save you, except people.
My country, the lava rules you, and the wild earth in the hands of people,
There are no limits in these hands.
My country, you are the people.
There are no borders.

***

My beloved,
Nakedness is not simple,
You cannot be naked as a leaf, as summer.
Your nakedness asks something,
And the naked void between your thighs is the big question.
You are like a child who asks the way,
Who believes there is one single answer.
Children are never simple.
I love your nakedness because it asks.
Questions are never simple.

***

We walked, from shoe to shoe,
From the spider web in the corner of wars,
To blood.
They sold us futures,
They sold us happiness,
But they were bankrupt.
Money was paper.
My country, we continued to walk among your seasons,
To walk towards you, always more.
I don't know if we were happy,
But a drop of dawn, a single drop,
Guarded our right for tears,
Guarded our right for hope.

***

Girl,
You came from the hard lands of cold and fire, lava in your feet.
The black earth forged you, and the black bread.
Your eyes: a hungry child, bigger than your face, bigger than your life.
Your eyes: the big sadness of the fire.
Girl,
You came from my lands: the cold, the fire,
I recognize you like a memory that didn't happen yet.
Girl, stay by me.
Help me weep.
Help me hope.

***

The pine island.
Suns multiplied in a puddle, like the puddle of a child. The first sea.
The rage multiplied in a puddle, like the shipwreck of a child.
The forest, the green blood flowed in what I remember because I couldn't forget.
The green shadow copied my shape, my motion,my journey.
Girl-child, you parted,
You left the smell of a sun in a puddle.
Girl-child, I found you. You were different, you were a girl-woman.
I was a root inside your deep recesses, there was a drop of dawn on the root.
There was a puddle in your belly, there was a sun in the puddle.
Girl-woman, stay by me.
Love is not a noun, it is a verb, a journey.
We bear each other, each day from the beginning.
We bear the sun in the puddle of a child,
Each day from the beginning, like love.
Girl woman, you are in my memory. You are not a memory.
You are in my longing. You are my longing.

***

The southern winds carry your scents,
The spices, the wet wild grass.
They announce your arrival,
The announce your departure,
The announce you are here.
Girl,
You come from my lands, the same earth in your veins,
Our blood is dark, like earth, like pain.
The southern winds blow.
Girl, don't leave.
Find the arrivals in your departures,
Find the here in your departures.
I don't know how to be close when I am far,
I miss you even when you are here.
I don't know the geometry of parting,
I don't know the geometry of longing.
You are in my longing,
You bring into my longing the geometry of pain:
The dust breaking always more,
You bring the glass: the geometry of beauty.
Girl, stay here,
Guard my longing, the geometry of the fragile.

***

The morning is a rebel. It rebels against life.
Life is not a tidy place, life is hard work.
Woman,
You try to polish the hours with a feather,
You try to seep the half finished things:
The book where voices walk always more into dust,
The cigarette unfinished, half smoking into the infinite.
Woman,
Everything leaves traces, indelible,
And you cannot conquer the light,
In the light everything is visible:
The traces, the half finished things that leave without leaving.
Woman,
You cannot tidy pain,
You cannot tidy love.

***

AFTERNOON

In the sea: your body in the water.
In the sea: your eyes are moons. They raise the sea.
Your hands in the earth, they continue the answers,
Your hands: a motion of earth, there are waves in the earth, the dusty surf.
In your hands: the deep roots pierce the earth, like the longing for light.
Your hands join the roots towards the light,
Your hands joined like a prayer.
When you lie by me,
The warm earth in your body is naked,
And I find you in your body, like a deep root,
I find you like the longing for light, in the small suns of your body.
I find you in the motions in which you live, in which you love,
I find you there where the close and the far melt .

***

Your eyes open out, open in,
They open the light.
Your lips closed out, open in,
What waterfalls grow in your silence.
What avalanche of time crumble in the water,
What does your silence remember.
Your eyes closed out, open in.
You open the evening.
What shadows grow inside you,
What dreams do they devour.
Why do you whisper suddenly:
Help me weep.

***

Woman-child,
Your tiny castle, like the sand castle of a child.
Your weapons: a snake of water in the hose.
The little shovel: digger of depth. The sea pierces the depths: the living salt-shaker.
The catapult shooting sand pies.
The animal of soap and foam devouring your body, devoured by time.
Woman-child,
I love your tiny castle, the sand castle of a child.
I write your name, wind in the letters of sand, in the song of the sand.,
Woman-child,
You are the wind in my song,
You are my song.

***

You don't know how strong tenderness can be.
It can build a wall of glass,
Behind the glass you are visible, nowhere to hide the ten fingers of your touch.
You don't know that your body, whatever you are, whatever you own, whatever you love,
Is a gift of the sea, the sea, strong, tender.
You don't know who begins the storm of a root.
The storm that rolls from infinite to infinite.
You don't know who begins the storm in a drop of dawn,
The deep storm, deep in your body,
Mother and semen of light.

***

Your place sounds like a whistle of dunes,
Like a whistle passing beneath all the floors.
Everything is close, everything is far.
The storm in the clay jag of water, the jag that traveled from the beginning,
The hieroglyphs of dream in your eyes.
Everything is close and far.
The consecration of light on your wall,
The consecration of shadows.
In your place: the small deserts where Moses walks,
His sandals are lit, his sandals are a fatigued miracle.
Everything is close and far.
The roads: an avalanche of silence. The city: an avalanche of sand,
The roads, the city: an avalanche of time.
And you part, the southern wind begins, the yellow storm.
The season of yellow pain.

***

Woman,
Your hands sooth the seeds,
In the deep recesses of earth, in the deep recesses of your body.
Your body print in the seeds. It will blossom. It will whither.
Woman,
Your hands: animals, Your hands: tools.
You carry them everywhere: to the fields of earth, to the fields of bread.
Your hands: a weapon.
The fight in the biggest arena: the animal of hunger.
Woman,
Your hands come from very far,
A lineage of clay, a religion of clay.
Your hands: the clay jag of water, the quiet rain.
Woman,
I am thirsty.

***

Winter comes like a shivering bee, like a wet sun.
You come from another season: a season of seas.
The waves tortured by the wind, deserted by the wind.
In your hands: shipwrecks: dreams of iron, dreams of abyss.
Woman,
I love your season, it is as natural as sadnness, as natural as the blue light in the iron.
Woman,
Come close.
The abyss is everywhere.
There is a sea, there is an abyss inside me. They are silent.
Woman,
Guard me from my silence.
No one is ready for what his silence says.

***

Everything is a number, an equation, even the seasons.
January, season 1, is a cold equation, a silent sun, hard seeds.
Puddle of rain, like the puddles where children play and grow suddenly old.
The season 1 continues in another number,
The way seed continue. Seeds grow like numbers in the dark,
Like an equation of earth and light, they grow like a storm of green numbers.
Each equation is a journey: the journey of time in a seed, the journey f the seed in the wheat, the journey of the wheat in a plate.
And there are endless equations,
Like the journey of the last bread in a plate.
Hunger is an ancient number. It is not a guest. It is written in our genes,
The carnivorous equation,
The hangman of seeds.

***

The geometry of light balanced by the geometry of water,
The geometry of a pure line.
Small things can crack the lines: the mad wings of bees,
Small things can build something big: a colony of ants, the sand castle of a child,
A colony of hands in the sand.
It is enough not to have the fury of a line: on a map, in the dam of our teeth.
It is enough to have a river diving us, uniting us.
The river is enough.

***

My beloved,
We travelled the long way home.
The road: made of time, time forgiving nothing, the road made of thick drops of dawn,
Of pigeons that knew the address of our pain, of a river that divided and united the seasons of light.
There were the mine fields beneath the wide feet of a question. There was no answer.
But we continued with the mine fields, with the address of pain, with the drop of dawn.
My beloved,
We had to believe that home exists in order to arrive,
We had to believe that arrivals exist in order to arrive.
My beloved,
We have to continue, because everything is a journey:
Home, the belief, our Ithaca.

***

My beloved,
Everything has its opposite inside it.
The silence speaks.
The closeness measures distances,
And the beginning has the end within it.
My beloved,
There are no beginnings,
When I begin longing for you, I already longed for you so long.
There are no ends.
In each end of longing there is another beginning.
The beginning of longing is inebriating, it forgets all the ends.
My beloved,
Longing is not a noun, it is a verb, and yet, it has no grammar,
The beginning in the end, the end in the beginning.
My beloved,
You are in my longing with no grammar,
You are my longing with no grammar.

***

Be close.
The distances change us, distances are a lonely journey, there are absences in the distance,
We are the big absence.
Be close,
Before you I feared the closeness,
Now, the only closeness I fear is when the absence is close, when the distance is close.
Be close.
When you see me your eyes demolish the distances of time.
When you see me your eyes demolish the empty spaces , the dance halls of shadows.
When you see me, I know where to find you.
When you see me, I know where to find myself.
Be close.

***

Woman,
Nights come, dark ink over dark ink.
You are in all my nights.
I sleep with the night.
Woman,,
Time comes, regular, wild, seed by seed,
You are in my time, you are in all the seeds,
I sleep with the seed, the fields between your thighs,
I sleep with the fields.
Woman,
Water comes in rain, in rivers,
You are in my thirst, you are in my water,
Come, sleep with my thirst, sleep with the rivers in my tongue.
Woman, come.

***

Wheat begins in the root between my thighs.
Wheat begins in the deep recesses of your body, the secret field.
And the wheat begins when the sky, the earth, the water
Grow into each other.
Come close, you are my wheat,
Your mouth ripens in the wheat.
Come close,, you are my wheat,
You ripen in my mouth.
Come close,
You are in my wheat. You are my wheat.
Come close,

You are in my hunger. You are my hunger.
Come close.

***

Our two shadows mingled:
One moon on the sand.
It was night, but we were visible,
As visible as innocence, as visible as desire.
Our love was simple. An addition.
We added nights to our night, we added time to time,
We added bodies to our body.
We were infinite each moment from the beginning,
Each night from the beginning,
We were infinite each body from the beginning.

***

No one can stop the road of the moon,
No one can stop the road in your fingers:
The long fingers of star light.
You come to me like a tremble, a twilight in tour tremble,
A tremble of all that passes.
You don't know that you were on time,
You don't know that your embrace was on time,
You don't know that no matter how late tenderness may be,
It is always on time.

***

Your laughter: pollen in your mouth.
Your laughter: the tongues of rain in your mouth.
Your laughter moves around me like arms, like an embrace,
Like a halo holy-unholy.
Your laughter moves inside me, like a body within a body.
The deepest wine.
You laughter explodes inside me, like the moment when my body finds your center:
The hard arrow, the soft center.
And your laughter is a child: the lips bigger than your face, bigger than your life.
When you laugh, I find you.
When you laugh, you find me.
Your laughter is the way home,
The biggest journey.

***

Woman,
The dark laughter cuts you, the secret blades of a night.
There is the drunk wine of pain in your laughter,
There is the drunk wine of passion.
Your laughter: a wind cutting the air.
Your laughter: the glass wing of a bird, the shards paint your lips red.
And your laughter is a tree, it walks each morning towards the sun.
Woman,
There is a leaf of light in your laughter.

***

Everything whispers, speaks, and sings at times:
The tree, green sister, the green song,
The big noise of stone,
The voices from the caves in the rocks, from the caves inside us:
Memories of metal, the sound of blood, memories deserted like a cry.
And you speak with everything that speaks,
You sing with everything that sings.
Your voice rises with the precision of light,
Your voice rises, against all gravities, high.
When you sing, I find you.
When your voice is high, higher than yourself, when your voice is low, beneath a cave,
I find you.
When you sing, I find the mad coir where life begins, each voice from the beginning.

***

My beloved,
Noting is really simple,
And for sure, not the hands:
The motions, the stillness,
The world they mould and that moulds them.
The life they mould and that moulds them.
My beloved,
I love your hands on the bread,
I love your hands on my body.
I love your hand when they are as light as heavy as tenderness.
Tenderness is never simple.
But, at times, in the pause between two moments,
You forget yourself in the pause, you are simple as a pause,
And the tenderness is infinitely simple.
My beloved,
I find you in the pause between two moments,
I find your hands , so light, when you forget yourself in the pause.

***

EVENING

Love, free and bound as a motion of living.
Love, heavier than the gravity of a fruit between the thighs.
Decisions, free and bound aa a motion of love,
Decisions, heavier than the gravity of the rain.
And we walk between gravity and gravity,
Between fruit and rain,
We walk like everything else, free and bound at the same time.
We walk towards time:
The furious river, the certainty of waterfalls,
Towards a time that will measure nothing, except the clarity like
The truce of shadows mingling with light, the truce of twilight.
My beloved, we can meet in this clarity,
We can love in this clarity.

***

Furious river in our skin.

The fire in your fingers, the long fingers of light ray
Burns the fruit between our thighs.
We learned how to be alone in our bodies, together in our bodies,
We learned how to burn in the good fire, the soft wild sun.
We learned how to cross the furious river,
Each night from the beginning,
Each fruit from the beginning.
We learned how to love,
Each body from the beginning.

***

Our body: the cloth of life.
The cloth, torn, consumed, knows how to cry.
And love: the eye closed out, open in,
What does it see, what secret wounds, what does it remember.
And pain: the digger of our depth. Depth is never light,
Through its open veins, a river of candles,
The holy family of suffering,
It walks in a row, candle by candle, slowly, meticulously,
In order not to lose itself, in order to be more infinite.

***

My beloved,
Each one has a small sun inside him.
Suns weep shadows,
Suns float like a clear season in a river.
My beloved,
I see you. You change time into a clarity.
I see the sun weeping shadows in your eyes. Your private night.
My beloved,
Looking into the distances, I recognize the shape of your motions,
You left the sound of your footprints behind.
My beloved,
Everything is far and close at the same time, like a sun ray, like time.
My beloved,
Looking into the distances I find you, each distance from the beginning.

***

From my land,
I brought nature,
It rained in my song, it drenched my life.
There were no important words in my songs
.
There was what I remembered, where I go, my root deep in the dark.
Woman,
There were places where you stepped,
Where you changed the light into the face of a leaf,
The lit forest between your thighs.
Woman,
I used simple words in my songs.
You know, nothing is really simple, and for sure, not words.
My words sing to whatever you are, to your lit forest.
I sing natural as a root,
Natural as the thirst for light.
Woman,
My thirst sings you.

***
Prophets loved dimensions.
They measured hope on a broken scale,
They didn't know how to measure the tomorrow in the yesterday,
The couldn't feel the horizon growing beneath your deserted feet,
They couldn't feel your warm tongue, the tongue that changes the warmth into the face of a leaf.
My beloved,
I measure nothing. I see. I feel.
I find you in all the horizons,
I find you in my hope.
My beloved,
Wait for me in your hope,
Wait for my hope.
I'll find you.

***

Poets die the way they live,
Unknown as their poem. Alone as their poem.
They die , and they bury them beneath an indifferent sun,
Beneath the indifference of faces.
And they bury them like a Pharaoh,
With all their treasures: the poems that longed,
The poems that knew what sadness is.
The only eternity available,
The only riches available.

***

My beloved,
Each one has his own shadows, the dark luggage,
In front of him, behind him, on his shoulders.
My shadows are forged by the distances I left around me, the fences, the hard shadows.
I don't know where my shadows began,
But I know where they go: to loneliness.
I know that my shadows entered my song,
I know my shadows entered into you, like a dream that wasn't your own.
And I don't know who will guard you from my dreams,
I don't know who will guard you from my shadows, my dark language.
My beloved,
I didn't know how much the loneliness can long,
I didn't know how the longing can be so alone.

***

Spring is hard work.
The seeds piercing the earth,
The bees piercing the deep recesses of a flower,
The root piercing the deep recesses of a woman.
It is strange,
The summer, the lightness of the bodies, the suns in the bodies,
Is consecrated by hard work.

***

Man,
Love is hard work.
You are two bodies,
As close as a breath, as close as pain,
As close as your loneliness,
As close as your longing.
You have to measure the distances: enough to love, enough to long, to hurt,
To be alone in your body , in the togetherness.
Man,
Finding the right distance is hard work,
Man,
Living together in the right distance, is hard work.
And man,
Dying together, each day more,
Each day in the right distance, each day together,
Is the hardest work.

***

The land molded me, and I molded the land,
So, we belong to each other, we are each other.
I am the cold land, metal faces of rocks, mad statues.
I am the forests, wild animals of pain,
I am the sea, the poisoned salt in my eye lids.
And I am the season that changes the light into fruit.
I am the eternities that changed me, a lonely atom,
Into a land.
Into you, my land.

***

My beloved,
I owe, like everybody else, the debt to life.
And I owe, my beloved, a debt to love.
I owe you the seasons of light. I grew in this light like a leaf of sun.
I owe you the deep recesses of your body, the longing of a root.
And I own nothing. You are the rain. No one can own the rain.
And I own everything: you seep into my body, drop by drop,
And then, all at once, like a storm.
My beloved,
I rise over the rain, my eyes are tall, to see your longing,
I rise over the rain like the longing.

***

Woman,
You parted, you left behind a deserted village.
A deserted village is the shape of the void,
It has no walls, only empty windows and an empty silence.
Woman,
I wait for you like a deserted village.
Waiting is hard work.
I long for you like an empty window, like an empty silence,
I long for a face, for the syllable of a voice.
Longing is hard work.
Woman,
Waiting tires me like a sentence to life, like pain,
And longing, like a cry that never left the mouth.

***

My beloved,
Love is, like everything else, layer beneath layer:
Loving un-loving, longing, un-longing.
My beloved,
Love is a digger of depth.
In the depth nothing is visible, we love and un-love blind.
My beloved,
I'll climb on the ladder of the depth, the soft, tenacious ivy, I'll climb from the depth.
I want to see you,
I want to see love.

***

Woman,
Nature is everywhere,
In the rain: the leafless rain on the roofs, on earth.
In the sea: the pure sea that makes the sky salty.
And times weaves the motion of the lonely atoms:
The atom of seasons, the atom of a face, of sobs,
The atom of a man, the atom of a woman.
Time weaves all the motions, always towards itself, always closer.
But, there are other atoms: people, love, memory, fantasy: the big artist,
They revolt, they create time in their shape, like a god, like a human.
Woman,
You are my revolt. I remember, I dream you.
I create you each night from the beginning, each body from the beginning.

***

Girl,
Time didn't come walking,
It was here from the beginning, ancient water in its eyes.
It weaves your motions with words, with sand, with waves,
With the claustrophobia of roots, with sadness, with defeated silence.
With the journey from moment to moment, with meanings,
With petals of sweat from the sun:
The exquisite cloth, the best thing you'll ever have: life.
Girl,
You try to rebel, to tear the cloth: you remember, you dream,
But time weaved in its cloth also your dream, what you remember.
Girl,
Nothing is timeless, not even eternity.
Girl,
The small clarities in your gaze, the foggy halo, it is priceless, like life.
Girl,
No one can put a price tag on the priceless.
Girl,
My longing is priceless.

***

Girl,
The question is not to be or not to be.
The question is how to be.
How to be within your journey from moment to moment, when you take me along,
How to be within your sadness, sending roots in my eyes.
How to be, you cutting the fog of a twilight.
Girl,
I want to know how to be where I am, how to be where you are.
I want to know how to see you, my eyes open out, how to bring you into my eyes.
I want to long,
And you, walking into my longing.
I want to know how not to be, together, each day closer to pain, closer to time.

***

The sky falls in the rain, piece by piece,
The rain seeps into my life.
My eyes are wet, they see better.
They see you in the colonies we conquered together, the colonies of solitude inside you, inside me.
Maybe you were looking for me,
Maybe I was looking for you,
But the rain is nakedness,
And our voice is full of rain.

***

Woman,
Love walks, like everything else,
In the journey between moment and moment.
The journey is lit, a sun in the water, the journey is drowning,
And feelings are a wave, coming and going.
Woman,
We look, like someone drowning, for an island,
Sand, stone, earth, whatever,
But the city , carnivorous, mad,
Is the only island possible,
The city where people don't dare to cry.
Woman, help me weep.

***

My beloved,
It's autumn. It passes its fingers over the skin of everything.
The geography of decay.
I don't know if to be silent or to cry,
If to stay or to leave, like a day, like a dream hardened by time.
My beloved,
We could leave, like an ancient journey,
To the empire of caves.
We'll gather the smell of hunger, the promise of pollen.
My beloved,
We'll invent hope, and it will invent us.
My beloved,
The dream of pollen in your eye lashes
Is exquisite.

***

My beloved,
Maybe it was too close to remember.
A man came out of the water,
He invented arms, he invented fists,
And the woman, a mermaid,
Invented feet, delicate, strong.
Together they invented gods, the indispensable gods.
The god of war: the stones in the fingernails, the iron in the teeth.
And they invented the god of love:
A drop of dawn in the bodies, a single drop,
Mother of light, semen of life.
My beloved,
Like love, we invented each other, like love we invented choice.
We choose each other, we choose love, each day from the beginning,
Each love from the beginning.

***

It's autumn.
It is strange, but the air is visible:
The mist, the fog, like a dream of water,
They defeat reality, they are defeated.
The rain: the drowning moon, the drowning sounds, the gestures.
Time is concentrated, like ages inside a fruit,
Time sheds from the fruit, tired peels,
As if there was no yesterday, no tomorrow.
And we walk amidst the defeated dreams, reality, the drowning moons, the drowning sounds. The silence of the drowned.
With no yesterday, with no tomorrow.
Our eyes closed in, closed out.
Seeing is a dream, seeing is pain.
In a corner of silence, a child,
His eyes bigger than his face, bigger than his life,
They see.
He has the courage to cry.

***

Absence is made, like everything else, of matter.
The 4th wall, mother of absence,
The door closed by the silence,
And all the dead things:
The flies on the lamp dead from the longing for light,
The words that were dying even before they were said.
And it is made by the substance of sadness:
A man, alone in his sadness,
A man, alone in his absence, furious at his silence.
Maybe someone should open the door,
After all, we live, we die on both sides of the door,
Maybe he would choose to stand at the open door,
Maybe choosing to stand at the open door is an act of faith,
To choose each day from the beginning. Each door from the beginning.

***

River,
Can you paint patience, the quiet motion of waiting.
Can you paint time,
The motion of the fallen petals of a day,
The motion of the sun in the skin of a woman.
Rivera,
Can you paint happiness,
Can you paint the courage to be happy,
The smile with lava in the eyes. A flower of fire.
Can you paint the endless separations,
The touch leaving the hand, a cigarette still burning, the motion of smoke.
Rivera,
Can you paint love.

***

My beloved,
Everything eats time,
And time eats itself:
The flesh of a day that is gone, the thirst of old water,
And the muscles of another day, in the depth, the anatomy of decay.
But when we love, we give time to time, and we hope, and when we remember.
My beloved,
My body in the deep recesses of your body,
The pollen in your body, a flower of blood,
Give time more, much more than time, the numbers of time.
They give it the scent of infinites,
They give it the breath: the burning incense.

***

We all have our always that are not really always.
Some live and love with all the always they have,
Some don't have enough always to love,
Some use only pieces of the always to live.
Somme sell their always for money,
They are bankrupt, the money is paper,
And some give it to the beginning of a smile.
My beloved,
I sell nothing.
I kiss your silence. There is a smile in your silence.
There is an always in your silence.
My beloved,
There is always in my longing.
Tonight, bring me your always , the always in the ten fingers of your touch.

***

NIGHT

The night: a wall of cold.
The night: an orbit, the time table of stars, of rockks.
My beloved,
Tonight, tie the pure journey from moment to moment, pulsating in your veins,
Tie the pure embers, flowers of fire,
Tie them to my night.
Tonight, be the handle of my door,
The handle that knows how to open, how to close the night.
My beloved,
Tonight, open your night to my night,
The wall of cold is harsh.

***

Again and again, I return to your voice,
Like a blind violinist to his chords, the well in the chords.
I return to the motions of the night in your body.
Your motion are fluid, water in water.
I wanted to sell happiness, futures,
But the only coin I had was the last .
The last bread in a plate is pain.
And the only coin I had was a dream.
My beloved,
Dreams are not defeated easily.
My beloved,
I am defeated.
I return to you like a blind violinist,
I return to your chords, there is a well in your chords.
Play for me with water in your fingers: rain, rivers, tears, the well.
Drench me with your fingers.
I am thirsty.

***

Lie by me, your dream in my dream.
Travel with me,
The journey from moment to moment entwined. The biggest journey.
At night, you are the orbit of moons,
I can see the waves rising, they walk towards the moon.
My beloved,
Everything is motion, even love.
Your body is the motion of your night in my night.
Your body in my body: the journey of sighs open as a hand, of water open as rain,
Of an open seed.
My beloved,
There are too many answers, too few questions.
And everything is a journey, questions, answers.
Travel with me, your questions in my questions, your answers in my answers.

***

My beloved,
You are the handle of the door,
The master of closing, of opening.
Open your night.
Let me spread inside you like a song,
The wide moth of a song.
My beloved,
I know too little.
I don't know who will guard our closeness,
Who will guard your breath in my breath,
Your night in my night.
I don't know who will guard us from time, the wild river,
From the waterfalls of time inside, outside us.
I don't know who will guard the song in our mouth, the song of our bodies,
The songs that knows how to love.

***

You sleep, invisible in your quiet, invisible in your dreams.
Maybe your night looks for my night,
Maybe you found me, you lost me, you found me again,
Maybe, at night, it is easier to be lost,
The borders between the visible and the invisible are mist.
Maybe at night, it is easier to find each other,
The borders are mist, they don't exist,
The night is an open hand.
Maybe the borders of mist seep into your dawn,
Where the shadows dance over the light,
Like a dark science, like an ancient ritual.
My beloved, be close,
Wait with me for the sun,
The ritual of light is exquisite.

***

Time destroys faces, words, silences, sobs,
And time builds in the night, with the bodies that suckled the sun,
The bodies that will suckle the milk of the night.
My beloved.
Your motions are the patience of coal,
Your motions are the power of coal,
The power to accept the night,
To accept the storm of smoke, the journey inside, outside.
The power to open your hand to the distances, always further, always closer.
My beloved,
Your motions are the stubborn power, unstoppable power to live.
I love your power, and I love you, unstoppable, stubborn the way life loves.

***

Autumn, mother of mists.
They make the air visible,
They make the visible invisible,
They lick your face, long tongues of fading water.
The wind tears the web of the leaves, the green spider.
The blind violinist in the street plays a fare-well to light.
There is a naked tree in your face,
A canopy of rain grows on your face.
I love your autumn.
I love the unreal that leaves reality visible, naked.
I love the canopy of rain, the drops raining into me,
The drops carrying you into me, always deeper.

***

The sky, the milky way.
You come this way like a secret path of breasts,
Like cold star fire.
You fill the night with the white river in your arms,
The symmetry of time in your arms.
The fish of time in the river: glowing silver, precious.
The fish of time: your infinite moment.
The shadows of time in the river: glittering, immense.
The shadows of time in your shadows.
My beloved,
Come close to my night, the night of earth.
Cover me with the rivers in your arms, in your path of breasts.
My beloved,
The cold fire of the stars burns be.

***

The sea birds: blades. They tear the air.
Whatever is made of air trembles:
The breath, the words, the whisper of leaves, the transparent longing.
And the endless solitude, the invisible feathers, the strong feathers:
The journey that begins each moment from the beginning.
Maybe it began before the birds began, before whatever trembles began,
And I don't know where it travels tonight,
To which tremble,
To which longing.

***

Winter returns, the light burns, the light is ash.
The earth is pain. The earth is silence.
The pain, the silence are contagious, they cross all the limits.
But, it's twilight. The fire of the light and the shadows mingle,
The fire gives shape to the shadows,
The way a song gives shape to the lips, a fire of blood,
The way love gives shape to the bodies, the way matter becomes love,
The way a drop of dawn in your body gives shape to the semen of light, of life.
My beloved,
There are repetitions everywhere,
Winter will return, like a secret season that began before you began,
Like the drop of dawn repeating itself in your body, stubborn, incessant.
My beloved,
The repetitions make everything different. Wait for me in each repetition,
I'll recognize you.

***

One day, I'll be, llike everybody else, alone.
My beloved,
I want you to live. I'll wait for you.
I want you to touch, to hear, to smell for me.
I'll wait for you.
I want to feel the newness of your seasons,
Your hair of wheat over the invisible field in my face.
I'll wait for you.
My beloved,
I want you to love life so much,
Enough to live for it.
I'll wait for you.

***

I thought I was dying. I thought that time ended, eternally began.
I felt the clarity of non existence.
Whatever I had, memories, regrets, smiles, words,
Were erased by a translucent hand, silent.
Only your body was left, the deep recesses of your body,
The deep recesses in your eyes, the dark recesses.
My beloved,
Release me by your fear, by your pain,
Release me by what you remember, by what the silent hand erased.
My beloved,
Help me weep.

***

The empty room where we found each one himself, where we found each other,
Was the best thing we had.
But time filled the empty room with dust, with foam from a distant sea,
With smoke from our silences.
There was no empty room to find ourselves.
We'll die, each one in his own death, unknown, unknowing.
My beloved,
Death is no departure, no arrival,
It is a journey into the world, into the past, always deeper.
My beloved,
The past forgets nothing.
I'll wait for you in the empty room the past remembers.
Wait for me in your past.

***

I find myself in the outskirts of what I know, of what I remember.
My beloved,
I don't have answers. Answers are not an arrival, they are a journey.
I don't know why time ends, why we begin another journey: death.
I don't know iif death is the end of memory.
If the memories are in us, so they die,
Or if they are something the world remembers,
If they enter the long slow river, deep into the past.
My beloved,
If memory continues, I'll find you, I'll remember.
Wait for me at the banks of the river,
Wait for me in the past.

***

The red coal burning in your veins stopped.
My beloved,
I am a scavenger of your treasures:
Your crazy mouth, the laughter bigger than your face, bigger than your life,
The orchard of your body: I harvest it leaf by leaf, I weave seasons.
Your eyes closed out, open in, I collect what you see, what you remember.
My beloved,
Scavengers gather time.
I gather your time, moment chasing moment,
I make time a statue.
The statue is exquisite. But it is still.
I miss the motion of your touch,
I miss your face painted on your touch.

***

I love you because you are you,
And I love the whole world, because you are in it.
I love your mouth: a fruit of seasons.
Your mouth: the slow snow, the indifference of an autumn, the pure rain.
The spring that makes the water blossom.
My beloved.
The fruit forgets nothing. The seasons inside it remember. Inside it the slow cold, the indifferent autumn, like a body that bleeds.
My beloved,
I may forget, but the body doesn't. I remember with my body:
The long slow river of memories.

***

My beloved,
Hope is not a noun, it is a verb, it is a journey.
Travel with me.
My beloved,
Everything will die:
The time in which we loved,
The time that painted our eye with sea.
Everything will die,
Also those who thought they own time,
The carnivorous ones who devoured our pain like a dead animal,
Who ate money: the leopard of paper.
My beloved,
Travel with me.
Time is in everything, the artist of change,
Maybe the world will be different, more generous,
Maybe there will be still tears,
But there will be other eyes, another rain in the eyes.
Travel with me.

***

I cannot write without the help of doubt.
My beloved,
I know you've left,
But where is the red traffic light, how far.
I don't know if you walk, crawl like the asphalt, the black sister, like a slow day.
I don't know if you hide in a dead end of time,
I don't know if death will change you into something else:
A book of legends, the sand castle of a child, a child.
My beloved,
You were a toy of life,
You were always playful.

***

Behind a word, there is someone who wrote it,
And there may be many who wrote it.
My beloved,
There are too many words, and too few truths. Don't read them.
Your dream: the spark of a potion, a potion that came from far, old water.
Continue to dream.
My beloved,
I gathered too many memories, the coral reef of my memories, the sunken time,
Tire me. I have too many things to forget.
And the fatigue of choice: to remember, to forget,
Where to go in the cross road of a moment.
My beloved,
Wait for me in what I remember, what I chose.
Let me in your dream, your dream natural as magic, as the old water of a potion.
Wait for me in your dream.

***

Maybe time will change.
The moments will follow each other slowly, gently, with tiny pauses,
The silence of the cross road, of dead ends, will speak.
My beloved,
There will be your face on your touch.
There will be on your touch the face of a seed. The face that makes the water blossom.
My beloved,
I'll see your face, I'll see the seed, I'll be in a train's window,
I'll be in all the stations ,
I'll be with you on the train.
My beloved,
The seed will be safe.
My beloved,
Seeds are power, they change us.

***

Maybe time will be different.
The rivers will separate and untie us.
We'll draw walls on the sand, on water,
We'll draw windows in faces, in the center of the eye.
The open air of the world will be for everybody,
And the money will be paper, we'll use the paper for the toys of life:
The kite of a child that is tall, because it begins from the depth, a deep dream, the dream of flying.
The paper boat of a child in a puddle: the first sea, the sea remained somewhere inside us.
The money will be a tool, it will be the digger of depth, it will be invisible as the useful.

***

SELECTED POEMS

MARINE NIGHT
Marine night,
Tell me who you are,
Tell me: are you infinite like a star in the wave,
The star pulverized by the wave.
Night falls, like a roof, like the claustrophobia of the dark depth.
Marine night,
You began before I began,
You saw me: an octopus, a child, a woman, a mother.
Love me the way one loves a woman,
Tender, with no truce, with the semen of salt: the seed of the sea inside me.
I am born, like a secret equation, each night from the beginning,
And I don't know if death is the same equation, the same repetition.
Tell me who I am,
Tell me if I am infinite, like the moment when time stretches its body,
Like the extension of distances inside a wave.
Marine sea, ravaged mother,
Love me like an octopus, like a child, like a woman.
Touch me with your immeasurable water, with the inexplicable depth.
Touch me with your shore,
Touch the secret equation of my fear, the equation of shipwrecks.
Touch me with your shore.

***

THE SHIP'S FIGURE-HEAD
Woman,
You climbed the thin prow of the ship.
Woman:
The sea bird, whiter than innocence,
The pulse of storm, the tremor of water, in your still eyes.
Your breasts: smooth coral. Time sinks in the coral, secret, silent.
Time held your body in its blue velocities.
Your mouth: a soft cub, a wild mother.
But nature was an animal in pain.
It let your body fall, the immeasurable weight, the light measure,
Fall beneath your cry.
Inside you: the pure distances of sand, the eternity of sand.
Woman,
Do you remember the sea inside the sound,
The perfection in your fissured form, in your salty repose,
The crystals of salt: a sharp fruit. A jewel.
Woman,
I love you an impossible love.
I love the pure distances inside you, pure as love.
I come to you, in the middle of your cry, each cry from the beginning.
Woman,
Help me sink, help me fall.
In the middle of your cry, help me cry.

***

THE WATER SONG ENDS (VIETNAM)
I was alone in a strange continent, a strange dictionary of life,
Black ash, sacred ash.
Suddenly, an embrace. Someone from the strange continent
Embraced me in a language I remembered.
Dawn was a drop, a single drop, yet, it drenched us.
Later, people came, soldiers, they brought their violent hymn.
They sacrificed men, children, like an animal, with a knife in their cry.
Time flowed like blood from the slit throat of a child,
They painted the rustle of the blood with the big noise of fire.
What I remember: days, nights carrying shadows, like trains, kill me.
It didn't kill the killers.
What I remember is a hard pulse inside me, the strange hardness of blood.
I was a child of slow light, but I saw.
The lines on a map, the lines that unite us, that divide us.
The fury over a line made the earth bleed.
The blood erased the lines. It made them deeper.
The last war is always the first one. The holy succession of hope and sobs.
The language of the soldiers falsified everything,
It counterfeited what is holy: the debt to life, as if it was paper.
Who will pay it?
My beloved,
Night comes with its law of stars.
Let's invent a law of shores. The big wave is coming.

***

POETRY
Poetry came from the bare streets, from the branches of people, with leaves, without,
From the silence that returns alone.
I had no fingers. I touched it.
I was not ready.
I didn't know how to decipher the courage of a touch, the courage of the ten fingers of a man.
There was the void: all that I remembered, all that I couldn't forget.
I was a small particle of the void.
I knew no one is ready for the poetry of the night in his ten fingers,
For the poetry of pain, coming in verses,
No one is ready for what his void remembers.
I invented, unprepared, unrehearsed, words that everybody knew,
For the first time.

***

RELIGION IN THE EAST
The gods don't know how to love the poor,
But they love our fear, our fear to live, our fear to die,
They love the fear: their mother.
Their beauty: golden spikes, shining pyres, a gaze studied as cold sin.
They sell us a violent heaven,
They sell us futures: dead eternities,
They sell us their heavenly merchandise: fear.

***

OH EARTH, WAIT FOR ME
I want back what I never had:
To be natural as magic,
To be the aroma of silence,
Of skies falling in the rain.
To be the root of who I am,
To know I cannot measure heights,
Heights begin in the depth.
To be a deep root, to know where i began, where I go.
To feel the truce between my foot prints and earth,
Each foot print from the beginning.
I want back what I never had:
Simply repeating the truce,
To know truce is never simple.
To repeat the truce, foot print by foot print, earth by earth.
Earth, out of the fields of counting and dimensions,
I'll wait for you.

***

RAPA NUI
Time was always there.
From the belly of the sea
A face emerged, a face made of time, water, salt,
A face woven from the smell of islands, of empty depth.
A face crawled towards earth, keeping inside it the deep tree of water,
The face carved the religion of stone.
Maybe it dreamed of eternity,
Maybe it didn't know that only memory is eternal:
The memory of a wave, the memory of the sand.
Maybe it wanted to return, but it forgot how to breathe water and salt.
Maybe it wanted to come back , but time has no ticket of return.
It had no choice,
It belongs to the endless exiles on earth.
There are too many exiles. There are too few citizens.

***

THE SHIPS
Ships woven by the silk in the light, by salty forests, by blue velocities.
And they are woven by the odor of gold and spices, the odor of greed, like a secret rot.
In the cargo:
Captive eyes chained to their tears, chained to their silence annd to what their silence remembers.
The eyes: memories that crack the wood and the wood cracks them.
The sailors measured the gold, the spices,
But no one knew how to measure the weight of a captive eye, of a tear,
Of captive memories, the weight of silent velocities.
They will sink.
The sea has no graves,
The captive gaze has no grave.

***

MEMORY
I forget what i don't resist remembering,
I remember only the intangible, where pain is not existent:
The foam in my bones when i love,
The sleeping skin, its dream- a caress,
The pure water in a truth, the blood in a truth,.
The invisible trace of time in each motion.
At times I try to remember more, to know more what my life knows,
But each memory destroys the one before,
It tears it like a tired thread,
So, I have to remember each time from the beginning,
Each life from the beginning,
And anyway,
Somewhere inside I know that no one is ready for what he remember,
No one is ready for what he forgot.

***

THE FLAG
They put flags on the lines of a map.
There is so much fury in the lines, so much rage in the flags.
I remember another flag:
The flag of a child, a bird on the flag.
It let the child fly high, higher than himself.
It wasn't a fairy tale,
It is what makes children what they are:
The invisible wings, smugglers of borders, smugglers of dreams.
There are too few birds, and too many flags.

***

THE LION

They turn lions into stone,
The statue of a roar,
In the middle of the plaza.
A statue like an animal of pain.
And yet, lions keep coming
From the only jungle left: the mad jungle inside them,
Huge as hunger, as the wind the color of gazelle, the color of empty bones.
Maybe they have nowhere to go,
Maybe they are exiled like the strangers from the places where the world died.
Maybe they need to belong to something,
Even to stone.
Maybe the stone is more generous than the jungle of empty roots.
Maybe it is easier to wait for something:
The green wind in the breath, the wild wave in a root,
Inside a stone.
The geological justice.

***

THE PORTRAIT ON THE ROCK
They call a man to enter the door,
A humble man, farmer of life.
They have the cross ready.
They crucify him in all the continents of pain, on all the peaks of cry on the rocks.
He dies in all the dimensions of man, even his silence is dead.
They don't know that pain is wild grass,
That it grows everywhere, in the memories of blood, in the blood of stone.
They don't know that the face of pain will be imprinted, holy-unholy,
On the rock.
They don't know how eternal a face on a rock may be,
They don't know how eternal the blood of stone can be.

***

FIESTA'S END 12, 13

The world was so new, that things didn't have yet a name.
I , wanderer, nameless,
In the continent of sea, the fatigued waves,
I knew the night of wild coral,
I knew the equator, the two halves that looked for each other.
The world was so new that roots had no name,
That returns had no name.
Somewhere I found the journey of return,
I recognized my foot prints in the foam, in the sand,
I recognized my hands, the hands that worked the waves,
That dug the incredible whiteness, deeper than the time in a coral.
I gave it a name: Ithaca.

***

FROM AUTUMN TESTAMENT.

My beloved,
I owe you my autumn,
The seasons of caves in the cloud, of wet shadows.
I owe you the madness of roots.
I owe you my silence,
There is pale sun in my silence, there is sadness.
My beloved,
There is all around the clay from which everything began,
Mold me with your long fingers, the fingers of starlight,
Mold me with your touch: the coral in your touch, the deep blue time.
Mold the ancient forest wandering inside me,
Add the ritual of rain to my arrival.
Add time to my time, make me more eternal, make me less afraid.
My beloved,
Mold what I am not, can you mold the emptiness?
Mold my clay love,
Mold my clay cry.
I will not go into the ancient forest quiet.

***

MERMAID
The girl entered the bar like a naked dream.
Her long hair: golden scarf from a distant land,
Her eyes: coral. Deep. Her eyes: the color of a blue, faraway night.
The men saw her, with dreams in their eyes,
They didn't know how to speak to a dream, how to bring is close.
They remained still, silent,
Each one in his own dream, each one in the same dream.
The girl left the way she came: unknown, inexplicable, silent,
She left into the nothingness. Dreams don't have where to go.
Maybe she was the girl who drowned last night. A phantom.
Maybe she was the girl who will drown tonight, in the river, in the eyes of the men.
They don't know that when a dream drowns, a dream that was their own,
They drown too.
They don't know that dreams are the longest river.

***

TOO MANY NAMES
There are not many seas,
There is only one ocean.
I cannot cut the water with shining scissors.
There are not many times,
There is only one river, and the dam of days, of dates,
Is the sand castle of a child, a dream of sand.
There are not many countries,
There is only one earth, one map,
And I never understood the fury for a line on a map, the rage.
Maybe, when I use names to see the world, I lose the world,
The fragrance, the crackling water.
Maybe, when I think inside a date,
I lose the wild river of time, the unstoppable waters,
The waterfalls where I lose myself,
Where I lose all the dictionaries of time available.

***

WINE
I drink to wine,
I drink the distant leaves, fallen from a line of time.
My beloved,
I came here with a picture of the world inside me.
When I die, I'll take along only the picture, nothing more.
I cannot tear pieces of the world, pieces of you, to take them with me.
When I drink, I speak to men, men I spoke 'I' to 'I', men I spoke silence to silence.
There were too few words and too many silences.
My beloved,
My words are distiller of memories,
My tongue is distiller of words,
Into a language of earth, of sun, of shadows,
Into syllables that fell, uprooted even before I spoke,
They went to the nowhere.
My beloved,
Don't look for roots.

***

ODE TO POTATO ( TOMATO)
Potatoes,
Mountains in the city.
Their eyes opaque, rocks of mud on the mountains.
A sudden avalanche in our pots, in our plates.
Potatoes, humble, innocent, massacred in quiet kitchens.
Their body: round earth, divided into hemispheres.
On the table: the celebration of potatoes, of salt, the mineral of life,
Of oil: an olive groove in the plate.
There is a coir on the table,
The voices off key, the voices in the right place.

***

ODE TO CLOTHES
Our clothes know us better than what we know ourselves,
After all, beneath the clothes, we are naked: our body, the hard bones, the vanity,
What we remember, what we cannot forget.
We don't know if clothes speak, if they whisper who we are,
If they know how to cry.
We don't realize how close we are:
Our time in their time, we grow old in each other.
Our night in their night: the same phantoms weeping colored threads.
Our life in their life: we wear them and we are less visible, more inexplicable.
We forget how our body dies , little by little, together with the clothes.
We forget that one day time will end. Eternity begins.
We'll be there in our clothes, utterly consumed, utterly faithful.

***

HOW LONG
How long does a man live.
How long does the dying last.
I asked again and again,
But questions are a journey, they lead you nowhere, they lead you to yourself,
And answers are a journey too.
I asked in all the parallels of time,
But time was a river with bodies floating, belly up, huge bellies, like dead fish.
I ask no one anymore,
The journeys tire me.
Slowly I learned how to live, dying each day the least possible,
But I was never eternal enough to learn how to die.

***

THE EDUCATION OF A MAN (THE EDUCATION OF A CHIFTAIN)
In your first years you learn how to speak,
Later, much later, you learn how to listen.
From your youth and on,
You learn how to be with nature, in natural, natural as magic.
Your body: a waterfall, always taller, always further.
Your fingers read the fire.
Your hands: a quarry of stone and suns.
Your mouth suckles the storms of time, your mouth: a deep well.
Your eyes: the slow gaze of your private autumn. Roots hanging in the air.
Your treasures: corals. Keepers of time, guardians of memories.
Your language: the language of the rain, the alphabet of sky in water,
It licks the tongue of people, it understand what they mean.
And if you learned how to eat from each fire of nature, the fruit of warmth,
And how to eat from each fire of people, how to learn, in each fire, the song the bread sings,
If you learn, in each word, that listening is an way of love,
Then you made the journey to human, the endless journey, without arrivals.
You arrived.

THE FISH AND THE DROWNED MAN
The world was so new, that things had no name.
The butterflies were different, the iron in their wings young, polished, ancient,
Glittering rust.
They had all the hues of the world, from dawn to the explosion of sunset.
Their transparent velocities had the precision of time.
You try to catch them, the violent net is an ambush,
But beneath the huge tree of the night there were devouring depths.
The butterflies, fugitive, attacking, led you,
They let you drown in the depth,
They let you drown in the clear air of the night, like a dream, like fear, like a memory.
The butterflies were different,
But the ambush was the same, the violent net.

***

BEING BORN IN THE WOODS
The flour in the grain. It gives skin to the wheat, a face, raising arms.
In a corner of the field:
A man and a woman, a body in a body, the endless veins of what continues,
The seed visible, invisible.
I travel from moment to moment, in my footprints, the remnants of a season, its pulse in the pulse of my footprints.
I travel, my steps continue all the destinations, all the distances, the whole journey, the crossroads, the dead ends.
I travel, my hands in my pockets. My hands: a seed,, a handful of seeds in my pocket.
I don't know how long can the old odor of a water drop be pulverized in the rain,
How long it can preserve inside it the sea, the home-land.
I don't know if a moment can continue, further than a moment.
I don't know if the drop can return, like mist, like fog,
To rain skies over me again.

***

INSPITE OF WRATH
We came from the holocaust of empty caves,
From the first knife of stone,
From the first blood in the knife.
We came from statues of gods. We didn't know stones were carnivorous.
We came from the first syllable, a syllable of water, a river murmured in our mouth.
Everything was a name, everything was a number, even god.
We came from the first machines, from the first merchants of people and time,
They sold futures, they sold happiness, they sold our hands. They couldn't sell the fury of the hands.
We came from the edge of knowledge. We came from a painting of sunrise, we came from hope.
And from the carnivorous stone in the gods, and the sold hands, the fury of the hands,
Fields of bread were born, hand by hand, the hope of a seed was exquisite,
And the painting of sunrise was light.

***

THE WAY SPAIN WAS
My land,
I find myself in the outskirts of your silence,
Your silence, somnolent, loud.
Your silence dry, barren. Your silence: the sad bread, the hard wine.
There is a village in your silence. It is a closeness, immeasurable, real.
There are dead in your silence, unburied like memories, like pain.
My land,
History is not written only by the victorious,
It is written also by the silence inside rage, inside a bullet, inside hunger, inside open veins.
My land,
Words separate us, silence unites us.
My land,
History can be written by this silence.

***

SOME BEASTS
There are twilights in the cave inside and outside us,
When the beasts appear,
The beasts that began before we began.
The beasts come, they don't stop coming,
Their bodies wild like endless Eros,
Their bodies demolish the dam of sperm. The sperm flows, unstoppable.
It bleeds mad dogs, mad saliva.
Their eyes, the alcoholic eyes, open like absence, open like the holes in the skull of the eyeless.
In the swamp of the cave, a giant snake
Curled like a cosmic orbit, like a cosmic god,
Curled in the mud. Slowly it devours itself.
In a corner: gentle eyes, a calf, a child,
They taste a drop of dawn, mother of life, mother of light.

***

THEY COME FOR THE ISLANDS (1493)
The children didn't understand,
All the way to death they didn't understand.
The blood flowed on the streets, without fuss,
The way the blood of children does.
They didn't cry. Their tears were burned together with their eyes.
Time saw the blood, it saw the crosses carved on their bodies,
The rosaries of bone, and time continued as if nothing happened,
It didn't stop even for a minute to measure the fire, the pain.
Time saw us kneeling to the crosses,
We kneeled like fear, blind, deaf, ready for nothing.
We didn't know if we kneeled to gods or to demons
The gods and the demons were the same pain, the same violence in a glory.

***

DISCOVERERS OF CHILE
They came between explosion and sunset.
My land: a map of silences that were never young, a map of words too ancient to remember.
The slim waist of earth, a young ancient woman. A sky too old to notice.
My land: long tongues of sea, they taste the memories of dust.
My land: the gold, the silver, gifts of stone, gift of ancient caves,
Gifts of ancient gods.
They came,
Their only gods were the gold, the silver.
Their gods were carnivorous,
They devoured my family of people,
They devoured the slim waist of my earth.

***

HEIGHTS OF MICCHU PICCHU ( POEM NO. 11)
I plunge my hand into my secret body,
I touch the drop of dawn dripping inside me for a thousand years,
Old, forgotten.
I want to arrive high, but I must have my feet in the mud, like a tree.
I don't know how to measure what's high, because height begins in the depth, in the roots.
And I must fall deep, in order to climb high, to leave the secret beast behind.
There is no stairway,
I have to climb on all fours, like a child,
To measure the earth in my hand,
To learn, from the beginning, like a child, what erect means, what tall means.
I see, somewhere far,
A man, thousand men,
A hunger, thousand hungers,
I see an open vein, thousand open veins.
They are alive, the men, the hunger, the veins.
I forget the distances, the circumference of stone,
The far and the close are the same.
I am the same hunger, the same open veins,
I am the same family ,
The holy family of pain.
The drop of dawn inside me is a mother.

***

I'M EXPLAINING A FEW THINGS
You are going to ask me where are the flowers,
Where is my home of windows and children,
Where is the light drowning in the pure rivers in my tongue,
Where is the big noise of stone,
The pulse in the cries of the vendors,
Where is the market, the waterfall of fruits, the precision in the motions of weighing, of living.
You are going to ask,
But, my friend, questions and answers are a journey, where arrival is departure.
The morning was burning, the light was black, there was smoke in our voice.
The soldiers killed us like an animal, with a knife in our cry,
Their motions studied like a crime,
And time flowed like blood from the slit throat of a child.
All that's left is what I see, what I remember:
The dead house. The metal flowers: guns. The metal eyes: guns.
And the blood of the children on the street was soft and quiet,
Like children's blood.
My friend,
Remembering is power.
Remembering kills you, in order to remember more, deeper.

***

THE JEWLER
Death absolves nothing.
There is no ritual rain to purify me,
No blessing of the bread in my lips, the withered leaves,
And death is not the end of pain,
The carnivorous silver feathers, like birds of prey, scrape my bones.
The claustrophobia of a root in the park,
The gold returning to earth, leaves.
The unused time: the mother of regret, no limits dissect it,
As if regret was more eternal than time, than sin.
Death, the broken machine of time, the terrible eternity begins.
I worked, i bought the future of gold, the happiness of a jewel,
But death is the big bankrupt. Even the money is paper.
I died, like the future, like hope, like stars, from inside out.
All that' left is an empty skeleton, glass,
You don't remember your face. Remembering kills you, each time more, each time deeper.
Death is not the end of dying.

***

WALZTZ
We walk by the sea, sleeping at a distance, learning slowly the closeness.
We have no shield of water, of the memory of coral,
The only shield is the indifference of time.
Whatever we have is in a corner of time, a corner of silence,
The intermittent home.
Everything happens slowly, and then all at once, like death.
I touch you slowly, and then my hands, my arms, my breath, my body,
Suddenly follows.
You touch slowly my invisible wound, and suddenly I bleed.
Come slowly towards me, and then, all at once,
Like the earthquake of the night,
Like a seed, the infinite earthquake.

***

BACAROLE
In the marine season,
If you blow over the sea with an opaque sound,
Like a dream, sailing, drowning,
Like a broken branch of water,
Like a port where arrivals and departures are the same,
The sea will shake the sound pulsating in your veins, the throbbing pain.
Night falls without resistance, the fear solidifies, dissolved in the water.
If you call,
The unquenchable rain will drench your body like a cry. You are thirsty.
Someone may come from the deep coral: summer, time, memories.
Remember. Call the rain, call the coral, the blue time.

***

DEATH ALONE
Cemeteries are not lonely.
The bones remember, they speak. They make death sadder.
We die till the core of our substance, we drown in ourselves.
We die from inside out, like a cry.
We die like a pure sob, too pure to be heard.
We die, our death is not silent, it touches fingerless the vocal chords that don't exist.
Death is not dark, it is the color of grass, the grass is used to earth,
The green grass moist by dew, too old to remember.
Death walks beneath earth and over it, we are the big dead of the world.
It walks in each of our moments, in each of our motions,
In what we feel, love, in the indifference.
It walks on earth, its bony tongue tastes the rot, long before the rot began,
And it waits for us, faithful. The terrible dog.

***

WIDOWWE'S TANGO
Malingna,
Maybe you recall me,
My dreams empty forever, like my shoes.
Maligna,
Death is not the end of pain,
It hurts me to think of the breeze in your hand, the tremble of quiet water,
Of the star dust in your sleeping eyes, it takes you far, too far,
Of the wild forest between your thighs, the wild forest fire.
I breathe my ruin in the deep recesses of earth, in the thick shadows.
There is too much earth between us. The shadows are solid.
There is too much earth between the sea in your breath, the hoarse waves, and my voice.
Thinking of time is suffering. The dates break my teeth , they wound my toothless mouth.
And feeling my substance: flesh, breath, blood, inexplicably lost,
Repeats , with each feeling, the death.
Maligna, I don't know if death will be the end of memories. The memories repeat my death,
The memories repeat the pain. Pain is alive.

***

LONE GENTELMAN

Eros is contagious.
It spreads in the air, in earth, in the sea, in the nimals, in the stars.
It is a wind shaking time, throbbing in the veins of time.
The woman in the forest. Between her thigh; a man. A strong root.
They invent desire, each body from the beginning.
They invent the beauty of half naked body, not time enough to undress,
The beauty of half love, not time enough to defeat what's whole.
In the small nocturnal hotel,
A woman sells her body, her pure breasts: pure tears.
All the motions of Eros are almost invisible, dressed with shadows,
And only the cat, the cat on a hot roof, screams its desire.
The scream cruises through all the shadows,
It confesses the smell of blood in the trousers, in the dresses,
The smell of cosmic veins, throbbing.

***

ALLIANCE (5 SONATAS)
My beloved,
You were the guardian of my gaze,
The fragmented center of seeing,
The dusty eye.
Come close. I don't see you.

You were the guardian of my absence,
Of the touch that I lost and that lost me,
You filled the void with small things, the way days do,
The small infinites were exquisite.
Come close. I can't sense you.

You were the guardian of my motion.
My beloved,
Everything is motion, everything is a journey,
Even the answers.
My beloved, I have no answers.
Come close. I can't hear you.

You were the guardian of my tears.
My beloved,
My tears are older than my memories,
Ancient dust of the eyes.
They are the tears of the old. Small. Final.
You extend your hand to the quantities that define tenderness.
My beloved, come close.
I can't feel you.

***

WEAK WITH DAWN
The day dripping grey dawn
Into the hope, the sobs, the coral of memories: the sunken time.
The burning shadows in the deep recesses of a boat,
The deep recesses of a woman,
The unstoppable depths.
Nothing is sudden.
The day wears its cloths slowly, by shivers, by silences, by fallen motions,
By feet left in the old shoes, by sparks that grow the ash inside them.
Amidst the defeat, the absence, the fire, the unstoppable depths, the fallen motions,
Help me burn, help me sink, help me fall, help me weep. I don't know how to weep alone.
Help me hope. I don't know how to hope alone.

***

NOCTURNAL COLLECTION
Night.
The wind shakes time, it shakes the sound of the dark,
It shakes the maps of time in each moment.
The dreams repeat everything, distances, absences, sobs.
Dreams are not a noiseless substance, they shout, they scream.
Dreams, what places I pass through, what crossroads of pain,
What comets in the geography of an hour, of a dawn.
Pallid hour,
Companions eyeless, toothless mouth-less are floating inside me.
The sea has no graves.
Pallid hour,
The shadows dissolve, and maybe dissolving is uniting.
Pallid hour,
The stretching of a dream is so violent, like a sudden body,
There are others who dream in my dream.
Pallid hour,
Wait for me. It's late in my life. Let me come. Let me dream.
The old phantom in my clothes tires me.

***

ARS POETICA
Between shadows and void,
The day begins.
Between shadows and void,
Again the rage for a petal I saw blind,
I touched without fingers,
Again the thirst for something distant,
Like the cry of a labour.
In each sound,
A deserted village grows inside me,
The stench of dead flies on the bulb,
The same longing for light,
The same sacrifice everywhere:
The distances of the night collapsing, kneeling,
The red tear of dawn, burning to ash.
There are too many answers, and too few questions.
Questions are a journey. They tire me.

***

WALKING AROUND
Sleeping doesn't save me from myself.
I am tired of thinking the same things, each day from the beginning.
I am tired of the daily autumns, impenetrable as life, each day from the beginning,
I am tired of cause and effect happening at the same moment, in the same corner of the day.
I am tired of my face, the mad laughter painted on my lips, like a circus of pain.
I am tired of being a grave, the claustrophobia of the dark, the memories, the dreams rotting till the bone.
All around there is motion, even stones are motion. Everything remembers.
No one to tell me how to rest, how to pause, how to forget.
I would like to be under the rain, like a bird, a lost flock, without umbrella,
The dry eyes, the centuries of dust in my gaze tire me,
And I don't know how to weep alone.

***

ODE WITH A LAMENT
Girl,
You stand in a place where the world is so new, that nothing has yet a name.
I look at you,
You stand full of eyes, full of new moons,
Your body: a young stream, it undulates like the hips of water.
Tell me your name.
Girl,
I have only ancient things to give you:
Dreams consumed till dust, the memories of stone.
Everywhere , inside, out, in earth, in the rivers:
Unburied bodies.
There are no funerals for pain, for a cry.
Tell me your name.
I can give you the endless autumns in my voice, leaves of sound.
They look for you.
I can give you the smoke in my touch, the ancient coal of longing.
Tell me your name.

***

PACT ( SONATA)
Gather me
Between your two fingers,
Between your fingers there are rivers of water and nets:
The nets of why, where, when,
The always and the never, coming and going.
Gather me
As if you were endless, as if inside you were all the orbits of light, of the dark.
Gather me between your two fingers,
The fingers of an ancient star light.
Gather me in what the light remembers, in what it sees.
Gather me in your motionless currents,
In your body of firmness and water.
Gather me in a comma of your touch:
Somewhere between touch and no touch,
Somewhere between departure and arrival.
Gather me in all your arrivals,
Arrive endless
Like the drop of dawn inside you. Seed of love.
Gather me in your longing,
The longest river.

***

THERE IS NO FORGETTING (SONATA)
If you would ask me where I come from,
I must talk with faraway things, with dark caves in my mouth.
The wall painted with beasts. The beasts inside, outside.
The beasts that began before I began, the beasts that still grind my silence.
I must talk with broken stones, there are memories in the stones,
With the family of faces around the fire,
I must talk about time, moment chasing moment,
About time walking towards me, always more, always deeper,
About how I die, slowly, from inside out.
I must talk about answers, questions,
But answers are a journey, and questions too.
Journeys tire me.
I must talk about things asleep in my forgetting, awake in my forgetting:
Seasons, faces, love, the eternities of autumn.
No one is ready for what he forgot.

***

THE BOOK OF QUESTIONS

1. Why don't the immense airplanes fly around with their children?
A. How do children fly with a feather, a single feather?'
, Where do they keep the sky?
B. Airplanes: a semen of a child, a single semen.
A good place to keep at least one dream.

2. Which yellow bird fills its nest with lemons?
A. Which bee fills the beehive with the yellow dreams of a flower?
B. Which bee drinks love,
And the beehive piles it , round yellow love, with the precision of motion, like time?
C. Which bee drinks the red tear of dawn, the deepest honey?

3. Why don't they train helicopters to suck honey from the sunlight?
1. Why do we eat our honey from the sun, even before we know how to eat?
Why are we sun eaters?

4. Where did the full moon leave its sack of flour tonight?
A. Where does the moon guard the dreams, when it is less than a sliver?
B. Where does the moon keep the sack with the blue cloths for the day?
C. Where did the moon leave the delicate sheets for the night?

5. If I have died and don't know it, of whom do I ask the time?
A. If I am alive, deaf, blind, and I don't know what time it is in my life,
How shall I know what time it is in my dying?
B. The clock is broken. Time is dead.
Who will tell us where to find time again,
Who will tell us we are time eater, the first bread?
C. Why when I die , time ends, eternity begins,
Whom shall I ask what time it is in eternity?

6. In France, where does spring get so many leaves?
A. How do autumns use so many leaves? Where do they keep the springs?
In which memory? In which time table of the green tracks?

7. where can a blind man live who is pursued by bees?
A. How can flowers resist, the hymen torn again and again, pursued by the desire of bees?
B. How can the dying continue to die, pursued by the dream of honey?
C. How can a flower remain innocent, virgin, intact,
Pursued by the passion of bees?
D. How can flowers die? why the breath of the bee in their breath doesn't resuscitate them?

8. If the color yellow runs out, with what will we make bread?
A. if the color blue runs out, with what shall we make summer?
B. If the color white runs out, with what shall we paint innocence?
C. If all the colors run out, how shall we make the rain.
D. If the colors don't dream, how shall we make the rainbow?
E. If the color black runs out, how shall we make the holes in the moon?

9. Tell me, is the rose naked, or is it its only dress?
A. Is God naked or is it a blue camouflage?
B. is the red tear of dawn naked, or is it its ancient costume?

10. Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?
A. Why do roots conceal themselves, stubborn, secret,
is true that they have to forget so much?
B. who guards the roots form the big claustrophobia of the dark?
C. Why roots go so deep, how do we know that they exist?

11. Who hears the regrets of the thieving automobile?
A. Who hears the regrets of the whistle that stole the train?
B. Who hears the regret of thieving red traffic lights, of thieving dead ends?

12. Is there anything in the world sadder than a train standing in the rain?
A. is there anything sadder than standing at the station of the train,
Of seeing your face in the train's window?
B. Is there anything than a train station, the world on both sides running, running?
C. Is there anything sadder than the children train that has lost the coal of dreams?

13. What are you guarding under your hump, said the camel to the turtle,
And the turtle replied: what do you say to oranges?
A. What are you guarding in your belly said the apple to the woman, and she answered: what do you think about a tree?
Does the tree has more apples than what the woman remembers?
B. What are you guarding in your eyes, said the owl to the eye glasses,
And the eye glasses sais: what would say about blinking?

14. does a pear tree has more leaves than remembrance of things past?
A. Do roots have more trees than what we remember? Are trees unturned roots?

15. Why do leaves commit suicide whan they feel yellow?
A. Why do love letter die when they become paper, yellow paper?
B. Why does money suicides when it becomes paper?
C. Why does the desert thrive when it feels yellow?
D. Why does the sun commit suicide when it feels no longer yellow?

16. Is peace the peace of the dove?
Does leopard wage war?
A. Is the battle for love a dove?
B. Is the way home a dove?
Is home, the madness of walls, the aggression of keys, a dove?
C. is hunger a huge leopard? So why doesn't it wage war?
Is hunger in our genes? So why don't we have the genes of a leopard?

17. Why does the professor teach the geography of death?
A. Why is history the geography of war?
Why so much fury, so much rage for a line on the map?
B. Why is the geography of peace a dream.
Why don't they teach dreams in school?

18.What happens to the swallows who are late for school?
A. Why are mule too early for work, too late for home?
Why don't they read Marx?
B. What happens to swallows who are late for everything?
Don't they know that time is precise, that death is always punctual, on time.
C. What happens to swallows who are too late for a desk, a chair,
That have to go on flying, to write letters on the air?

19. Is it true they scatter transparent letters across the sky?
A. Is it true that people scatter sound proof windows across the sky?
B. Is it true the scatter barbed wires across the sky to make wars holy?
C. Is it true they cast lost paths, strangers, refugees from where the world died,
Is it true you can be hungry everywhere?
D. Is it true they scatter red traffic lights, dead ends, inside you, the biggest ambush?

20.
A. is this sun the same as yesterday's?
Is there a place where time sleeps, snoring quietly?
B. Is there a place where sun is the biblical holy Bush, burning and not consumed?
C. is there a place where the sun is a statue, the same pedestal, the same grimace of stone when it burns? Is there a place where time is a statue?
D. Is this sun different from that sun? The one with the bars in the eyes?
E. Is this pain the same as yesterday's? How much future can pain carry in its sack?

21. How do we thank the clouds for their fleeting abundance?
A. How do we thank the clouds for the biblical that didn't happen? For the fear that happened?
B. How do we thank the clouds for the puddle of a child, the true sea?
C. How do we thank the clouds when they come with an umbrella?
D. How do we thank the clouds for keeping the sun always behind them, safe?

22. From where does the thunder cloud come with its black sacks of tears?

A. From where does the thunder cloud come with its sacks of black strong bread?
B. From where does dawn comes with its sacks of red tears?
C. from where do clouds come with their rainbows of tears,
Why there are too few rainbows and too many tears?

23. Where are all those names sweet as cakes of yesterday?
A. Where are all those names your mother used to call you, in which tears?
B. Where are all the names your imaginary friend used to call you? In which bundle of shabby child's clothes?
C. Where are all the naked names you never called yourself when you were naked?
D. Where are all the legendary names your dreams used to call you? In which sleep?

24. Where did they go, the Donalds, the Clorindas, the Eduvigises?
A. Where do all the heroes go, for how long, why is Atlantis in the street corner?

25. How long do others speak if we have already spoken?
A. How long people need to speak in order to convince themselves?
B. How long can people listen to themselves?
C. How many repetitions people need in order to feel they spoke?
D. How many repetitions do we need, the repetitions that make us different,
In order to say the same phrase?
E. Why do we learn how to speak, and only later, how to hear? To whom do we speak and why?

26. What would Jose Marti say about the pedagogue Marinello?
A. How can a teacher be a blackboard, and who guards the choke?
B. How can a teacher make the pupils deaf, how can he make the choke shout?

27. How old is November anyway?
A. Is November younger than October, and what is the age of a number?
B. If everything is a number, even god, the infinite, do numbers know who they are?

28. What does autumn go on paying for with so much yellow money?
A. How can autumn pay so much when it is bankrupt, when money is paper,
Yellow as a leaf?
B. Why do we pay for whatever we did, , like a debt to life,
And why do we use so much yellow money, and we don't know its price?
C. Why don't we know the cost of things, why do we put a price tag on the priceless?

29. What is the name of the cocktail that mixes vodka and lightning bolts?
A. Why do we mix things, like what we remember, what we forgot, when we don't know
Is in the mixture, who was mixing?
B. Why do we mix the river with time, and we call it water?
C. What is the cocktail that mixes a dry river with our thirst?

30. How many churches are there in heaven?
A. How many people want to go to heaven because it is empty, free lodging, no land lord?
B. How come there are so many churches in heaven, and so many crosses here, on earth?
C. How come there are so few churches in heaven, why being a saint is hard work?

31. Why doesn't the shark attack the brazen sirens?
A. Why do shark have iron teeth, and desire: steal ones?
B. Why do sharks have iron teeth, why a dream is stronger than iron?
C. Why does it need courage to be a siren, to be eternal for so long?

32. Does smoke talk with the clouds?
A. Does smoke rises in order to speak with heaven or hell?
B. Is smoke crucified on its black cross?, does it know the way to heaven?
C. Does smoke know it is innocent, more innocent than the holy fire?

33. Is it true our desires must be watered with dew?
A. Is it true that a drop of moon, a single drop, is enough to lubricate our desires?
B. Is it true that a drop of moon is written in our genes, semen in our deep night?
C. Is it true that a drop of dawn, a single drop, can water our desire with all the five rivers of the senses?
D. Is it true that desires are thirst, a desert, is it true that we don't know if a barrel of dew is enough?

34. Why does the hat of night fly so full of holes?
A. Why do saints drill holes in the sky, into our bedrooms?
B. Why do stars drill holes in the night, and who will repair them?
C. Why is the night sky so full of holes, does god need a sieve for the spaghetti he cooks for supper?
D. Why do children shoot their sling at the sky, why do they believe they can kill their demons?

35. What does old ash say when it passes near the fire?
A. Why does the ash says when it passes near the fire: Arrivederci?
B. Why does the ash say when it passes near the fire; why do you burn yourself in vain?
C. Why does the ash say when it passes near the fire: it is the last time you burn. I am your savior.

36. Why do clouds cry so much, growing happier and happier?
A. Why do clouds have to cry so much in order to know they are happy?
B. Why is sadness so heavy, heavier than vapor?
C. How can clouds know what we don't: how to be happy?
D. Why tears are Catharsis, and why we are not all pure, happy?

37. For whom do the pistils of the sun burn in the shadow of an eclipse?
A. For whom do candles burn in the catacombs, there were the world ends?
B. For whom do the pistils of the sun burn in the dark, is the sun afraid of the end?
C. Does the sun love us, does it think it can save us from the total eclipse, the last?
D. Is the sun an art lover, does it want to make even the eclipse a piece of modern art?

38. How many bees are there in a day?
A. How many days are there in a bee?
B. Why the love story of bees and flowers is eternal? how many bees are there in eternity?
C.. Why do bees believe in polygamy? How many flowers are there in a bee?

39. What is that upsets the volcanoes that spit fire, cold and rage?
A. How can a bee, a single bee, be a volcano, spitting spears and fire into the hardest skin?
B. Why , while escaping, volcanoes shoot you from the back, like the past, like a vulgar gangster?
C. Why are volcanoes so tall, sky high, and yet, they spit hells?

40. Why wasn't Christopher Columbus able to discover Spain?
A. Why voyagers think that home is not an adventure?
B. Why didn't the Caribbean discover Columbus in time?
C. Why do the Spanish fish discover Spain in a boiling pot?
D. How come Columbus didn't discover America, the skyscrapers are so visible?

41. How many questions does a cat have?
A. How many answers can a cat contain?
B. Why cats have so few questions, are they so deeply wise, or do they believe there are no answers available?
C. Why cats use always the same question mark to all their questions, why do they confuse us?
D. Why cats have questions three times a day?
E. Why cats use always a foreign language when they ask something?
F. Is it true that cats have more answers than questions? Why nobody asks them?

42. 43. Do tears not yet spilled wait in a small lake?
A. How come tears are catharsis? How come we are not all pure?
B. Why tears spilled dry us? How many lakes we need inside us?
C. Is it true that tears not spilled grow old, creased like water?
D. Why tears not yet spilled don't wait in a lake? Why tears are salt eaters?
Why do they need at least an ocean?
E. Why tears are not a river flowing from the little lake?
why rivers know always the way to the sea?
F. Why tears wait in the little lake, why don't they run when the rain fall, why don't they have an umbrella?

44. What will they think of my hat, the Polish, in a hundred years?
A. How will the beard find the eyes of the hermit in a hundred years? What will it tell it?
B. Will the female patients remember my white medical robe, the one I used to check them, a hundred years ago, when everything was a child?

45. What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
A. What will they think about my poetry where I coughed the words like a disease, a T.B.C.. in my mouth?
B. What will they say about my pacifist poetry, the pale words that proved that blood doesn't exist?
C. What will they say about the lemons I squeezed from my eyes, the acid tears, in each word, in order to be greater?
D. What will they say about poems that are like a knife in a cry? what will the cry say?

46. How do we measure the foam that slips from the beer?
A. How come everything is a number, even god? What is the number of god?
B. What do we feel when the foam drinks our beer?, how can we count the beer?
C. How can we measure something that begins dying, even before it begins?
Is death a number?

47. What does a fly do, imprisoned in one of Petrarch's sonnets?
A. What does a crocodile do, imprisoned in a vegan restaurant?
B. What does a lion do, imprisoned in a song for peace?
C. What does a snake do, imprisoned in the song of a bird? Do snakes have fear of height?
D. What does a child do, imprisoned in one of Petrarch's sonnets?

48. And at whom does rice smile with infinitely many white teeth?
A. why does rice smile at itself with infinite white teeth? Doesn't it know the teeth will be consumed by other teeth, white, yellow black?
B. How does a child chew the sticky rice with infinitely tiny teeth? Does he smile with two rows of teeth?
C. How can we know that the rice smiles when it spreads on a white plate?
D. does rice smile on the snow? How can we be sure about it?

49. Why in the darkest ages do they write with invisible ink?
A. Why does the invisible writes itself with dark ink? Does it want to become visible at long last?
B. Why do the dark ages write themselves with invisible ink? why do they want to remain invisible? Do they know what shame is?
C. Why do the dark ages write themselves with invisible ink, how do they become so visible?
D. Why do teachers use white chalk on the black board? How does it become invisible?
E. Why does the noon sun write the world with infinite white ink?,
How does it make the visible invisible?

50. Does the beauty from Caracas know how many skirts the rose has?
A. Why does the beauty need so many skirts? Why, the more skirts the more they want to rise, to reveal the rose?
B. How does a hermit know how many tunics does a lonely onion have?
C. Why men go to bed, to discover the rose, with buttoned pajamas?
Are buttons erotic?

51. Why do the fleas and the literary sergeants bite me?
A. How do old fleas bite me, their teeth in a glass?
B. Why do literary sergeants go to the dentist , why one set of teeth is not enough ?
C. Why literary sergeants keep, like shark, spare teeth in the glass?
D. How do the old homeless bite me, toothless? How do they sharpen the void in their gums?
E. Why don't the literary sergeants write a juicy anthem? Something to bite with all the teeth we have, and even more?

52. Is it true that voluptuous crocodiles live only in Australia?
A. Why voluptuous crocodiles live wherever there is juicy women, tender gazelles, to chew? Why their teeth are not enough for old, bony meat?
B. In which glass do old crocodiles keep their set of teeth? Do they have a special set for erotic nights?
C. Why do old crocodiles chew only blood? Do they think that blood is soft?
D. Why do crocodile live in the internet? Do they think that death is virtual?

53. How do the oranges divide up sunlight in the orange tree?
A. Why are there green lemons and yellow lemons? Where do the green suns grow?
B. How many suns are needed to paint yellow a billion Chinese faces?
C. Why sun flowers whither in a different season than the sun?
D. Do sun flowers have their roots in the sun or only their faces, and why they don't burn?
C. Is orange juice the juice of the sun? are we sun drinkers?

54. Did salt's teeth come from a bitter mouth?
A. Why do people spit salt into the sea, who began first, the sea or the people?
B. is salt the kinder garden of teeth? What happens to the teeth that are always late?
C. did salt's teeth come from the fish? Why are fish in the net bitter?

55. Is it true that a black condor flies at night over my country?
A. Is it true that condors put at night a black mask? Why do they imitate people?
B. How do black condors find where they are in the black night? Do they use G.P.S.?
C. Is it true that condors are smugglers of borders, that they may be hungry everywhere?
D. It is it true that a cat can see a condor flying at night, that they can see the dark inside the dark? Why don't we use them in wars? in politics?
E. Is it true that the white rat in the mouth of the black condor recognizes the color of death? Is it true it is too late to divulge it?

56. And what did the rubies say, standing before the juice of pomegranates?
A. why do rubies believe people drink blood?
B. Why do rubies think it is a beauty contest?
C. Why do rubies flirt with the juice, and is the juice female?
D. How does the baby coat call the cheese?

57. Why doesn't Thursday talk itself into coming after Friday?
A. why are days numbers? Why can't they add a number or even more, to their number?
B. How can days know what number they are? or if they are a number?
C. How can days know their name? how can Sunday know it is not Monday?
D. Why are days a series of numbers, why can't one day subtract a day or two?

58. Who shouted with glee when the color of blue was born?
A. why were singers sad when the blues were born?
B. why the sea, the sky don't know they are blue? Is color blindness contagious?
C. why did the parrot shout with glee when it was born with sky in its feathers?
D. Why is the tear of the fish blue? Can pain be blue?

59. Why does the earth grieve when the violets appear?
A. Why do they ruin the reputation of the violets? Why do they say they are the color of death? and how do they know if death has a color?
B. why are violets happy, why don't they mind what they say about their color,
How do they become small rebels of tradition?
C. Why don't violet know what color they are, why don't they use a better dictionary or at least better eye glasses?

60. But is it true that the vests are preparing to revolt?
A. Why are the vests preparing to revolt again against the dimensions of the waists?
B. why do some women wear male vests? Do they think it is a rebellion, a battle for freedom?
C. Why do rebels wear second hand vests on a first hand life?
D. Why do children wear vests? Do they prepare for the inevitable revolt?

61. Why does spring once again offer its green clothes?
A. Why does spring offer naked green bodies? Why it is not afraid of utterly naked, utterly visible?
B. Why does autumn offer its yellow clothes? Why is it afraid to see the old bodies, naked, consumed?
C. Why does love offer its skin colored clothes? Why it is not enough, why does it need to pretend better?

62. Why does agriculture laugh at the pale tears of the sky?
A. Why do the fields laugh? Why are the seeds cruel? Why do they need tears in order to exist?
B. Why do people laugh at the tears of the sky, when they are under a roof, or at least an umbrella?
C. Why do puddles laugh at the tears of the sky like the rebel galoshes of a child?
D. Why does the sky cry for the gods? Why don't the gods have tears?

63. How did the abandoned bicycle win its freedom?
A. Why when you don't let someone use your motions for himself, you win a ticket?
Why is freedom a lottery?
B. Why do the bicycles have to be abandoned in order to be free? Is freedom a desert of bicycles?
C. Why do we have to be forgotten, and to forget the lock on our wheels, in order to be free? Is this freedom, the big forgetting, the only freedom available?

64. Do salt and sugar work to build a white tower?
A. Do paprika and tomato build a red tower in the mouth?
B. Why do they white wash the milk? How do they whiten the tower of taste?
C. Do glass and water make the tower of taste transparent?
D. How does the red tear of dawn build a white glittering tower in our eyes?

65. Is it true that in an anthill dreams are duty?
A. Is it true that in a beehive pleasure is hard work?
B. Is it true that flowers, the sting of the bee in their hundred skins, is pleasure?
C. Is it true that beauty: flowering, pollen, the sunrise, is hard work?
D. Is it true that among German soldiers, huge ants, dreaming of the ant hill is a must?

66. Do you know what the earth meditates upon in autumn?
A. How com that the earth in autumn is anxious like us: what will happen next?
B. Why sheep don't meditate in spring? How can the chewing stop the thinking?
C. Why leaves don't remember what they thought of before falling? Why don't they read their diary?

67. Why not give a medal to the first golden leaf?
A. Why do leaves suicide jumping down from the high floor? Why can't they think of another way of dying in order not to be bored?
B. Why leaves become golden in massive numbers? Why are they too many golden leaves and too few medals?
C. Why, for each leaf, the golden color, the falling, is always the first and the last? Why medals are useless?
D. Why leaves become brown so soon, like the earth, why don't they wait first for the medal?

68. Have you noticed that autumn is like a yellow cow?
A. have you noticed how autumn gives the yellow milk of earth? that the true cow is the earth?
B. have you noticed how autumn is like a parrot? How the leaves repeat the same cry, again and again?
C. Have you noticed that in China the longest season is yellow?
D. have you noticed how spring is a clown, how the huge red lips of the fruits smile?
How petals are a red painted tear?
E. have you noticed how autumn is like a sick man: the yellow skin, the deep yellow in the eyes, do you think it believes in resurrection?

69. And how later, the autumn bbeast is a dark skeleton?
A, Have you noticed how later, the body of autumn in burned, how the holes in the black skull look at us, as if they knew us from somewhere?
B. Have you noticed how black winter can be? How the sleep of the black bears is black, how the black skulls of autumn continue to snore through their black holes?
C. why are the skeletons of autumn black? Where is the black fire, high up, or deep down?

70. And how do winter collects so many layers of blue?
A. How winter gathers so many white flowers, why is the love of the pollen colder than a shiver?
B. How can the winter be white, like a saint, how can even the fire of hell be white?
C. How can summer gather so many black layers? How can the light be burned?
D. How can the winter steal all the blue of the world, its motions studied as a crime?
E. Why do the seas, the skies, let the winter muzzle them in its hard lips?
Why don't they cry before it is too late?

71. And who asked springtime for its kingdom of clear air?
A. Who asked spring for its clear air? Who asked to see the naked thighs of everything?
Who wants to be so visible?
B. Why do flowers open their thighs in spring, how do they know what time it is in the sperm?
C. Why do they call spring the season of love, and why do they say that love is eternal?
D. Why do they call spring the season of tenderness. Why is love hard work?
E. Why do they say that the spring of love is indecent? Why even the flowers cover their deepest thigh with petals?
F. Why doesn't the pollen choose a lover by itself?

72. How do the grapes come to know the cluster's party line?
A. Who needs n more to be drunk? The squeezed life of a grape or the squeezed life of a man?
B. Do the small clusters, the small grapes feel the secret power to make drunk a whole world?
C. Why men get drunk by the wine of grapes, why don't they know women are the strongest wine, the mad inebriation?
D. How much wine does a man need in his lips for one laughter, one single laughter?
How much forgetting does a laughter need?
E. Do grapes mind if they'll be a cheap wine or an exclusive liquor? Is vanity contagious?

73. And do you know which is harder, to let to run to seed or to do the picking?
A. Why is losing hard work? Why is living hard work?
B. why is life the art of loss? How can we choose what we can resist loosing?
C. How can hunger be in our genes? Did we choose to to let run to seed once too many?

74. It is bad to live without hell: aren't we able to reconstruct it?
A. Why is it so hard to be admitted to heaven? Why don't they have the admission exams easier?
B. Why should we reconstruct hell somewhere else, when we have one ready modern, a guest in our house?
C. isn't it hard work to enter heaven? Isn't entering hell no work, all fun?

75. And to position sad Nixon with his buttocks over the brazier? Roasting him on low with a North American napalm?
A. Why did the Americans return to cannibalism? Why do they roast people? Are they hungry or it it a sacrifice to the gods?
B. Why do the American roast the heretics? Are they as deeply religious as the holy inquisition?
C. Why do the American roast people? Is it easier to enter heaven through hell?

76. Have they counted the gold in the cornfields?
A. Why do they count their golden teeth when they eat brioche , when bread is too vulgar?
B. Why do they count the gold in the bread fields? How do they put a price tag on the priceless?
C. When did they write the account of the golden bread on huge stones? When did the gold of the bread become paper?
D. How did they keep the golden bread inside the pyramids? Did they mummify it like a god eternal?

77. Do you know that in Patagonia at midday, mist is green?
A. Do you know that the tear of dawn is red?
B. Why at night, the teeth of the panther shine like an eye?
C. Why, at sunset, the teeth of the panther are red?
D. Why, in summer noon the air is black? Does the sun burn the light?
E. Do you know that when it rains at midday, there are more colors than rain drops?

78. Who sings in the deepest water in the abandoned lagoon?
A. Why do the drowned ones sing only in the deepest water? Do they find there their lost soul?
B. What do fish sing in the deepest water?
C. Why do naked sirens sing only in abandoned lagoons? Why are they suddenly shy?
D. Why does the water sing in abandoned lagoons like a person alone in the bath?

79. At what does the watermelon laugh when it is murdered?
A. why are watermelons amused at the surprise on the face of the murderer?
Why didn't he expect a spray of juicy blood?
B. How do watermelons know that they are eternal? That there is a watermelon in each seed?
C. Why do watermelons enjoy their masochism, and are we serial killers?

80. Is it true that amber contains the tears of the sirens?
A. is it true that diamonds are the tears of the miners?
B. Is it true that gold contains black finger nails?
C. Is it true that kings have a set of diamond teeth, the true crown?
D.Is it true that beautiful women have a set of pearl teeth in a glass for special smiles?
E. Is it true that sirens have a set of amber tears in a glass, for crying?

81. What do they call a flower that flies from bird to bird?
A. When did flowers lose their shyness? How do they make love from bird to bird, utterly visible?
B. How come flowers are so passionate? How many lovers does a flower need?
C. How do they call the wings that nest between the thighs of a woman? Why do they fly from night to night?
D. Why men are birds? When did they lose their wings? Why should the flowers hop between one bird and the other?

82. isn't it better never than late?
A. is it better too late or too early?
B. Why do we live between the too early and the too late?
C. Why is it better never than always? When does pain speak?
D. Is death better when it is never or when it is late?

83. And why did cheese decide to perform heroic deeds in France?
A. Why are the cows in France heroic? Why giving milk is hard work?
B. Why do cows in France don't eat cheese? why don't they trust it?
Are heroic deeds dangerous?
C. Why does the cow in your plate sin the anthem? Is it heroic?
D. Why are the old cows in France martyrs? Why producing seasoned cheese is pain?

84. And when light was forged did it happen in Venezuela?
A. When was the night forged, did it happen only in one half of the world, and which half?
B. who forged the night with a safety net: moon, stars? And is the night safer ?
C. Why did they forge the light only in one half of the world? was there a shortage of light?
D. Why do they have artificial suns in the streets? Is it a revenge against god?

85. Where is the center of the sea? Why do waves never go there?
A. Why is the sea immeasurable, lost? How do the waves find it?
B. Where does the sea end? How do the waves know where to halt?
C. Is it true that waves know where is the center of the sea? Is it true they don't want to commit Hara-kiri in a whirlpool?
D. is it true that there is no shoe shop in the center of the sea, that waves don't like to walk barefoot in the water?

86. Is it true that the meteor was a dove of amethyst?
A. Is it true that meteors are a dove? the end of all wars?,
And what is the end of war? Is it true it is the end of people?
B. If meteors are a dove, why don't they know the way back?
C. did they forge doves in order to justify the production of meteors?

87. Am I allowed to ask my book whether it's true I wrote it?
A. do books know how to read themselves?
B. how do books know who wrote them? What happens when the writer forgets to write his name on the cover?
C. Why books don't like anonymous writers? Is it true the feel orphans?
D. Is i true that books are secretive? is it true they don't want their personal data on the cover?

88. Love, love, his and hers, if they've gone, where did they go?
A. Why love is an eternal wanderer, like a blind beggar? Why does it go from eye to eye?
B. Why love is a city bus? Why does it have so many stops?
C. Why is love an eternal wanderer, like the eternal Jew? Why does it pray in beds?

89. yesterday, yesterday I asked my eyes when will we see each other again?
A. Why our eyes don't see each other? Why even one eye can't see itself? Why bother ask?
B. Why do we meet each other's eye on parallel trains?
C. Is it true there is a bridge between our eyes? Is it true that bridges measure the distances between our gazes?
D. Why is the Yesterday a good meeting place? How do we remember whom we wait for?
E. Why are airplanes a good meeting place? Why are we always too late for the flight?

90. And when you change the landscape is it with bare hands or with gloves?
A. Do gloves have fingerprints? How do they know who they are?
B. Is it true that a landscape, even the landscape of a body, the landscape of a night, minds if we use gloves or not?
C. Why gloves have the same shape of the hands? Are they beloved twins or a dangerous camouflage?
D. do eyes have gloves? How do we change a landscape behind the blinded eyes?

91. How does rumor of the sky smell when the blue of water sings?
A. Why do blue water in the eyes sing the true blues?
B. How does the sky see itself in the water? How can it copy the blue song? Does the song have copy rights?
C. Do sounds have a scent? Do we need a dog to follow the song? Can dogs sing?
D. What is the scent of the rumor when the water's song is pink?

92. If the butterfly transmogrifies, does it turn into a flying fish?
A. if the bird transmogrifies itself, does it turn into a flying dinosaurs?
B. If the mille pied transmogrifies itself will it become a mille pied?
C. If the bee transmogrifies itself will it be a flying spear?
D. if a shark transmogrifies itself will it be swimming teeth?
E. if the grass transmogrifies itself will it become sheep?
F. If a child transmogrifies itself, can it choose what it will be?

93. Then it wasn't true that God lived on the moon?
A. is it true that God is afraid of the dark?
B. is it true that God suffers of the claustrophobia of a closed heaven?
C. Is it true that God changes address from sun to moon, because the sun protecting cream was slowly exhausted?
D. How can we know on which side of the moon does God live?
E. If God works on the moon, what does he do at day time?

94. What color is the scent of the blue weeping of violets?
A. Why are scents indecisive? Why don't they know what color they are today?
B. Why is weeping a waterfall of colors? Are scents a flying river?
C. Is it true that scents are flying memories? Is it true they have no parachute?
D. Is it true that scents jump, like memories, from an ancient rock without a safety net?

95. How many weeks are in a day, and how many years in a month?
A. How many hands are in a finger? How many fingers fish in a soup?
B. How many poems are in a word? How many poems are in a comma?
C. How much rain is in a raindrop? How many wells are in a thirsty jar?
D. How much desert there is in a grain of sand? How many grains of sand thirst is mane of?
E. How many clocks are there in a second? Why time is never on time?

96. is 4 the same for everybody? Are all sevens equal?
A. Why are not all the numbers equal? Why dying makes the numbers smaller?
B. Why are not all the sevens equal? Why there is the Big Saturdy?
C. how does a child makes the day, all the 24 hours, longer than themselves?
D. why is time so sensitive? Why does it allow us to break it to pieces like a restless
glass? To glue it to infinite dimensions, like a body of love?
E. Why do 7 feathers don't weigh like seven eagles?
F. why are 7 raindrops different than 7 rain showers?
G. Why are 7 snow flakes different that 7 glaciers?

97. When the convict ponders the light, is it the same light that shines on you?
A. Why light has always the same weight? The light in the thought of sin, the halo of light on your head?
B. Why is there only one sun, why is its light the only light available? Why there is only one light and so many people?
C. Why do they speak only about light? Shadows are more easy, why there are many shadows? But are they enough for everybody?
D. Is the light inside you the same sun over your head? Which burns more?

98. For the diseased, what color do you think April is?
A. why for the ill, April has the color of waiting for a garden inside? why April is hard work?
B. Why, for the ill, April is green like the sputum that coughs in their mouth?
C. Why for the ill April is colorless, like hope?
D. Why for the ill, April is red, like the flower of pain, like the red painted tear of a clown?

99. Which occidental monarchy will fly flags of poppies?
A. Why flags unite and divide us? Why poppies unite us?
B. why there is no king of poppies? Who invented the flag?
C. Why flags are dangerous, even if it is a flag of poppies? Why do they smell red?
D. Why do flags bleed small poppies innocent? Why the white is no option?
F. Why the wind can be a wild beast even in a flag full of poppies?

100. Why did the grove undress itself only to wait for the snow?
A. Why do hermits undress themselves to roll in the snow?
How can the snow put out the fire of hell?
B. Why women, the body pure snow, make love dressed, why the snow doesn't melt beneath the clothes?
C. Why there are too many saints and too few heavens? Why waiting for heaven is hard work?

!01. And how do we know who is God among the Gods of Calcutta?
A. How do we know who is not God? Why all the rest is easy?
B. How do we know who is God among all the monotheists? Do gods know how to share heaven?
C. Why there are too many gods and too few heavens?

102. Why all the silkworms live so raggedly?
A. Why making a small cloth or at least a napkin of silk is hard work?
B. Why do ragged silkworms have a smooth mouth? Is it easier to spit the silk?
C. Why are silkworms irresponsible? Why do they eat the ragged fruit? Why do they forget their mission in life, producing smooth silk?
D. Why do silkworms live raggedly? Why are they slaves to a smooth piece of cloth that anyway wouldn't be their own?
D. Why do silkworms live raggedly? Do they feel they are farmers of silk? Is silk hard earth?

103. Why is it so hard, the sweetness of the heart of the cherry? Is it because it must die or because it must carry on?
A. Why is the sweet seed in the deep body of a woman, so hard? Why sowing a body is hard work?
B. Why does a soft hand-shake may have a hard palm? Can palms harden in certain hand-shakes?
C. Why is it so hard, the softness in the silence of a child? Is it because it has to protect itself, and from what?
D. How can the sweetness deep in a kiss be hard? How can it melt in our mouth? Why doesn't it want to die?
E. Why is the sweetness inside us secret? Why secrets grow old within us, old and hard?

104. Has that solemn senator who dedicated a castle to me,
Already devoured, with his nephew, the assassin's cake?
A. Why is it easy to celebrate post-mortem? Give speeches, castles? Why the one you killed doesn't thank you?
B. Why is it easier to assassin someone and donate him a castle? why is it easier for you not to hear the thanks?
C. Why do we think the living will accept our donation? Why do we need to give them a beautiful tombstone?
D. Why do we donate to someone we killed a huge buffet? Why do we consume it long before he had time to die for the last time? Why does the murdered one says nothing?
E. Why do killers make donations to the ones they killed? Do donations feel remorse?

105 Whom does the magnolia fool with its fragrance of lemons?
A. Whom do you fool when you hold the flag, when you left your hands somewhere else?
B. Whom do you fool when you say this war was the last, and why the last war is always the first?
C. whom do you fool when you ask someone? Why questions have a mine field beneath their
Wide feet?
D. Whom does the audience fool with their laughter, when the clown falls from a ladder that doesn't exist?
E. Whom does the panther fool when he closes his phosphorescent eyes at night? Is it true there are persons with phosphorescent eyes?

106. Where does the eagle put its dagger when it lies down on a cloud?
A. where does the killer keep the gunpowder smeared on his fingers when he has no pockets?
Where does he put the dead body when he has no jacket?
B. why do women betrayed by life keep their knives deep beneath the wrinkles?
C. Why are eagles playful? Why do they lie playing daggers between the claws and the beak? Why don't they hire them in the circus?
D. Where do orators keep their daggers when they are silent?

107. perhaps they died of shame, those trains that lost their way?
A. Why is it easy to lose your way on the train tracks? Why straight lines confuse you?
B. How come people never lose their dream? How come the only proof is that they never died of shame?
C. is it true that in ancient times there were no roads? Is it true that it was purposeful, so that people wouldn't lose them?
D. Why people die no longer of shame? Why are all the roads legal?
E. Why people are not trains? Why losing your way is a pass-time?

108. Who has never seen bitter aloe?
A. Who has never seen an ugly smile of a rose?
B. Who has never seen the sharp teeth of beautiful words?
C. Who has never seen the knives beneath a kind wrinkle?
D. Who has never seen in a mirror the shards in whisper?

109. Where were they planted, the eyes of comrade Paul Eluard?
A. Why do they plant the eyes of a poet in a tender harem?
B. Why do they plant the eyes of a comrade in a place he can see us too clearly,
In the big cemetery of dreams?
C. Why do they plant the eyes of a comrade in a place where they are utterly visible?
Why do we have to hide our eyes 24/7?
D. Why do we plant the eyes of a comrade deep, like a blind root? Why does it sooth us?

110. Do you have room for some thorns, they asked the rosebush?
A. Do you have room for some more birds, they asked the gun?
B. Do you have room for some nails, they asked the crucified?
C. do you have room for some more bodies, they asked the shroud?
D. Do you have room for some more legs, they asked the crutch?

111. Why don't old people remember debts or burns?
A. Why do debts forget old people? How can they count time: the too early or the too late?
B. Why for old people, life is no longer a fire/ how do the burns forget them?
C. Why an old tree gives no fruit? Why does it forget its debt?
D. How does an old metal forget the fire? How does it forget the terrible burn that changed it, that made it something else?

112. Was it real, that scent of the surprised maiden?
A. How come, the scent of surprise at night may be the scent of a scream, the scent of a yes?
B. how come the surprise of hand shake is not always innocent? how come it may be studied as a crime?
C. Why are scents always real? Why don't we know how to read their alpha bet?

113. Why don't the poor understand, as soon as they stop being poor?
A. Why poverty damages the memory? Why the memory of the poor is the real poverty?
B. How can we sell our memories for paper. Paper bills?
C. How can reality become a legend, how can legends become reality ?
And who is real?
D. How can people forget the past, how can they forget that the past is full of future?
E. How come people who become rich don't realize no one is saved forever, that saving is a playfulchild?

114. Where can you find a bell that will ring in your dreams?
A. Where can you find a dream that will ring for you, when you want to remember oor to forget?
B. why some bells ring alarm, and others, a lamb approaching?
C. Why do church's bells wake you up in the middle of love dream?
D. Where can we find a bell that will ring, a moment before a nightmare?
E. Where can we find a bell that will wake us up from a dream that lasted too long?

115. What is the distance in round meters between the sun and the orange?
A. What is the distance between the black balloon and the black hole?
Why is it straight?
B. What is the distance, in curved time, between your feet and your shoes?
C. What is the distance, in curved infinites, between your feet and earth?
D. What is the distance, in round infinites, between the somersault and the vertigo of the clown?

116. Who wakes up the sun when it ffalls asleep on its burning bed?
A. Why God sits on your lap at sunset to write poems? Why doesn't he notice the sun burning in your bed?
B. Why roosters wake up the dawn a moment before the fire? Are they the ancient protector of the sun?
C. Why don't you wake up from a night fill of thighs? How could the sun burn your bed unnoticed?

117. Does the earth sing like a cricket in the music of heaven?
A. Why do crickets sing the song of earth? aren't they tired of singing only four songs?
B. Why do stars sing all together in the coir of nature? Why don't they rebel, why don't they demand to be the conductor or at least the Prima-Dona?
C. How come there is only the music of heaven? Is it true that if heaven exists, also hell exists?
D. Who is the conductor of the music of heaven when God is asleep?
Why the players know by heart the music of earth, why do they feel it is enough?

118. Is it true that sadness is thick and melancholy thin?
A. Is it true that melancholy is liquid and sadness solid, heavy? How much a tear weighs?
B. Why can't we measure the dimensions of what we feel?
Why can't we measure the dimensions of what we don't feel?
C. Is it true that some words are full of love, even when they are short?
Is it true that we don't know the length of the words 'no', 'yes' ?
D. Is it true that laughter is liquid and also sadness? How can we separate them?

119. When he wrote his blue book wasn't Ruben Dario green?
A. Why some poets have a color and their poems- another color? which color confesses?
B. Why are poets are chameleons? Why do they change color when the old one is out of fashion?
C. Why some poems are the bottom of the sea? Why do they try to solidify the colors? Why don't they leave them to flow liquid like the tear of a fish?

120. Wasn't Rimbaud scarlet, Gongora a shade of violet?
A. Why are the poets of love red? Why do they think that love should be red? Why flowers disapprove?
B. Why is the color of melancholy purpole? Why do the robes of kings ignore it?

121. And Victor Hugo tricolored? And I yellow ribbons?
A. Why some poems have the color of a flag? Do they protect a line on the map: the Patria?
B. Why some poems have the ribbons of a knight? Does the ribbon remember why did they fight, whom they defeated? How can a ribbon defeat them?
C. Why do some poets have a ribbon of nobility? How many died in duels? Why do they need always more nobles?

122. Do all the memories of the poor huddle together in the village?
A. Why do the memories of the poor come from very far, from the first hunger? Why the village is not room enough? Why do they spill out?
B. why memories are contagious? How do the poor share their memories?
C. Why do the memories huddle silently in the village? Is the pain of shouting bigger than the pain of silence?
D. Why do the memories of the poor huddle together in the village? Are their memories cold?

123. And do the rich keep their dreams in a box carved from minerals?
A. Why do the rich let their dreams grow old in a box, too old to dream? Are young dreams dangerous?
Why are they afraid to remember?
B. Why do the rich keep their dreams in a beautiful box? Does the box make the dreams more beautiful?
C. Why do the rich keep their dreams in a huge box? Do their dreams need too Lebensraum?
D. Do the dreams of the rich get claustrophobic in the box? Are they too many or is it the void that squeezes them?

124. Whom do I ask what I came to make happen in the world?
A. Why the question is not why we live, but how to live, how to die?
B. Why there are questions with a mine field under their wide feet?
C. Why don't we ask computers? Why computers may say we came to the world to make, or maybe, be made by them?
D. Why do the magicians, the prophets, the saints said we came to make the next world better? Why we could never see the next world, how far is it?

125. Why do I move without wanting to, why am I not able to stay still?
A. Why life is motion, even the life of a stone? Why even death is a journey deep into the world?
B. Why do we feel without wanting to? Why feelings are motions?
C. Why dreams are motions? Why dreams don't go to sleep?
D. Why time is motion, why there is time in each motion, even when we are stll?

!26. Why do I go rolling without wheels, flying without wings or feathers?
A. Why are we human, a wingless bird, smugglers of borders, smugglers of dreams?
B. Why our thoughts don't have old fashioned wheels? Why do they have jets?
C. Why do we use airplanes to fly? Why birds are cheaper?
D. Why did we invent wheels? Why wheels invented us?

127. And why did I decide to migrate if my bones are in Chile?
A. Why are bones traditional, they stay where we live? Why the rest of us is more modern,
Why modern things want to travel?
B. Why do we take the bones along when we travel? Don't we know bones remember too much? Do we travel to remember or to forget?
C. Why migrating is sad? Why don't we feel that the mother land is the people?
D. Why migrating is sad? Why do we know we can be hungry everywhere?

128. Is there anything sillier in life than to be called Pablo Neruda?
A. Is there anything sillier in life than having only one name for all the faces we own?
B.Is there anything sillier than carrying for a life time a name we didn't choose, or even don't like?
C. Is there anything sillier than having a classification: a name, why don't we use numbers, why they are more efficient?
D. Is there anything sillier than getting used to a name? why names don't get used to us, to our moods?

129. Is there a collector of cloud in the Colombian sky?
A. Why are there scavengers everywhere? Do they collect clouds? And who is thirsty?
B. Why skies gather clouds? And why clouds gather seas? And who is swimming?
C. Do birds collect clouds to soften the nest, and do eggs rain?

130. Why do the assemblies of umbrellas always occur in London?
A. Why was London built in an umbrella shop? Do umbrellas rain?
B. Why don't they have in London an assembly of rain coats?? Is one hand enough to live?
C. Why are the umbrellas in London consumed so soon? Why don't they keep them closed?

131. Did the queen of Sheba have the blood the color of amaretto?
A. Why does the blood inside us give our life color? why not the blood that was spilled?
B. why do people white wash their face and not their blood?
C. Why do white people don't drink coffee? Is the color contagious?

132. When Baudelaire used to weep, did he weep black tears?
A. Why do tears have all the colors? Who is the painter?
B. How does the sea enter our eyes when we are at the beach? Do we cry only at high tide, at full moon?
C. Do white tears exist? How can we see them at day light?
D. Why do we do useless things? Why do we cry inside us with no witnesses?
E. Why tears are an alibi? Why should they be visible?

133. And why is the sun such a bad companion to the traveler in the desert?
And why the sun is so congenial in the hospital garden?
A, Why is the sun hot at day time, when it is hot anyway?
B. Why does the sun leave the traveler at night , is one moon is enough for a fire place?
C. Why does the sun let the flowers in the hospital garden blossom?
Why does it let the ill ones whither, like eternal autumn?
D. Why doesn't the sky help the thirsty traveler, why doesn't it spit in his last canteen?
E. Why don't they plant plastic flowers in the hospital garden? Why don't they try to convince the ill ones that eternity exists?
F. Is it true that the sun in the garden lets the ill onesdie a colorful death, with no dark, no shadows?
G. Is it true that the sun white washes the death of the ill ones? It the sun the big purifier? can it purify pain? Is pain impure?

134. Are there birds or fish in these nets of moon-light?
A. is it true that the main catch of moon nets are the eyes of a human?
B. is it true that the main catch of moon nets are the eyes of cats, cats on a roof?
C. Is it true that the moon nets are fishers of souls?
D. Is it true that the moon nets are a magician, that they fish magic?

135. Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?
A. Is it tue that we cannot find ourselves if we haven't lost it somewhere?
B. Why do we lose ourselves, find it, lose it again? Shouldn't we keep ourselves in a safe?
C. Why don't we hold Arianna's thread in order to find ourselves in the labyrinth that we are?
What if the beast finds us first?

136. with the virtues that i forgot could I sew a new suit?
A. Why are sins fun to remember: a night of love, a naked night?
Why don't we sew at least a pair of panties to purify it?
B. Why are virtues easy to remember? Why do we need so much to forgive ourselves?
C. Why do the saints wear old suits? Don't they have enough virtues for new ones?
D. Why do we forget our virtues so easily? Why virtues are hard work?

137. Why did the best river leave to flow in France?
A. why were the best rivers lost/ why didn't they have a better map?
B. why rivers know always the way to the sea? Why they always lose their name in the sea?
Why so many shoals of sharks swim in France?
C. Why the best river can punish us, why did it flood France? Who is guilty? Who is innocent?

138. Why doesn't it dawn in Bolivia after the night in Guevara?
And does it assassinated heart search there for his assassin?
A. Why a drop of dawn, a single drop, is enough to make you visible, to be killed, is enough to find the killer?
B. Why does dawn follow blindly the night of the world, no matter what was the night of the people? Don't people have enough world inside them?
C. how can one bullet kill two people: the human killed, and the human inside the one who killed?

139. Do the black grapes of the desert have a basic thirst for tears?
A. why thirst is a desert? Why thirst is too dry to remember what tears are?
B. Why do deserts want to cry? Are the artificial tears: the sand, the black grapes, enough?
C. Why cries use whatever they feel for tears, why tears are real even when they are sand, grapes?
D. Why everybody has the basic thirst for tears? why the deserts of the world are not enough?

140. Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities?
A. will life not be a clarity between two dark unknown?
B. How can birth be a clarity when we don't remember our birth?
How can death be a clarity when we don't remember our death?
C. Why are we born long before we are born? Why we are born each moment from the beginning? How can birth be a clarity?
D. Why do we die, each moment more, each moment deeper, why don't we know which is the last death? How can death be a clarity?

141. Or will life not be a clarity between two dark triangles?
A. How can life be a clarity when only our name on the door knows where to find us?
B. How come death is not dark? How come we never lose our way to death?
Why death cannot be a triangle? Why we can pass through itno matter in what position we died?
C. Why birth is an open triangle with a big circle on the top? Why do we need such big heads from the start?

142. Or will life not be a fish prepared to be a bird?
A. Why life is prepared to have wings, fins? How come the feet now?
B. Why life was prepared to be a fish? Why do we know no longer how to breath water? Why would it be useful ?
C. Why life intended us to be a fish? Did it prepare us to drown better?
D. Why did life prepare us to be a fish when there are more useful things to become: a lion, an eagle?

143. Will death consist of non being or of dangerous substances?
A. Why death consists of useful substances? Why fertilizers or feeding the vultures are important?
B. Why death is useful? Why do we need always more space to live? Why are wars or hunger useful?
C. Why death is useful? How could we know otherwise that we were loved?
D. Why death may consist of being? Why the proof that death exists is not enough?

144. In the end, won't death be an endless kitchen?
A. Is death a kitchen without fire, or a fire without a kitchen?
B. is death a kitchen and a health restaurant five stars? Are all the ingredients natural?
C. Are there two separate kitchen: fish kitchen, meat kitchen? Where do they eat the salad?

145. What will your disintegrated bones do, search once more for your form?
A. Why can the hard bones of the dead find each other? Why it is hard work for thhe heart to find its place? How can the dead love?
B. Do the bones remember the story of evolution? Could they make us into a monkey again or even a jelly fish?

146. Will your destruction merge with another voice, another light?
A. Will death let you find, at long last, who you were? a volcano in hell, a music of heaven or something in the between: a blind drum player?
B. Can the dead come together, can they vote if there will be a holy gangster or a holy saint?
C. Can your death be the last of the world? Will the world left be another light, another voice? Will there be a last question?
D. can your death merge with the other dead? Why do the voices seem familiar?

147. Will your worms be part of dogs or butterflies?
A. How can worms create us, better than any god, in another shape, in another face?
B. Why are worms the true eternity? How do they create themselves ,again and again,
In another shape of life?
C. Why don't we like worms? Why do they love us?
D. How come worms spread all over our body, why don't we resist? are there worms even in our brain , in our thoughts? Are thoughts edible?

148. Will Czechoslovakians turtles be born from your ashes?
A. Will my ashes will be enough for an elephant, or at least an ant?
B. Could dinosaurs be born from my ashes, why the river of ash doesn't go both ways?
C. Will a child from Australia be born from the ashes of a Kangaroo?

149. Will your mouth kiss carnations with other, imminent lips?
A. Why do the dead love kissing roses? Isn't death thorny enough?
B. Why do the dead love kissing roses, why the smell of dying doesn't let them die in peacce?
C. Why love is a rose? Why death is a carnation? Is it true that our biggest moment are a garden? And who waters them?

150. But do you know from where death comes, from above or from below?
From microbes or walls, from warrs or winter?
A. Why do we die from inside out? Are we the preferred address of death?
B. Why do things come from all directions: the rain, the winter, the wars, life?
C. why earthquakes bring death form below? Are there earthquakes also in heaven?
D. They say that the fire of hell is below? Why does the fire of bomb, burn us from above?
Are there more than one hell or more addresses?
E. Why death comes from walls? Why walls are not safe? Why do they shoot people at a wall?
F. Why genes rot us? Is it the most glorious death available?

151. Do you not believe that death lives inside a cherry sun?
A. Why the sunset, the cherry sun dies? Does it die temporarily, or next day there will be a new sun, different? Does the infinite live and die in the same way?
B. Why does death live inside everything, even what wasn't born yet? does also the infinite die, but it has no date of death?
C. When the cherry sun burns, is it heaven or hell of the sun?
D. Is the sun a child of Prometheus? why Is it burned or a pyre? Why not death but only the torture is eternal?

152. cannot a kiss of spring also kill you?
A. why can a kiss of spring kill you in many kinds of death: the thorns of a rose, the sting of a bee? Or maybe because it wasn't as beautiful as you thought?
B. why waiting is hard work, and especially for the kiss of spring. Why waiting is a killer?
C. how can a kiss of spring kiss you when time is spring-less, too old for spring?
D.. can a kiss of spring burn you in like a wild fire, when there is no water ready?

153. Do you believe that ahead of you grief carries the flag of your destiny?
And in the skull do you discover your ancestry condemned to bone?
A. Why it is destiny that carries the flag of grief? Why one life time is enough?
B. Why destiny surrenders to grief? how does it know that the sky is empty?
C. Why is the skull where we find the best stories? Why are bones such big talkers?
D. Why the condemnation to bone is in your genes, how can genes remember the future?
E. Why are genes fortune tellers? Why can't they tell us a nice fortune?
F. How can a skull contain a whole heap of bones? Are the bones the rubber women in the circus?

154. Do you not also sense danger in the sea's laughter?
A. Who do seas laugh a moment before the storm? Why the waves are a series of teeth, like serial killer? Why do they aim at fear?
B. why seas laugh, foam dripping from their teeth, like a madman, like a moment before the scream? Why fish die in this laughter?
C. Why the laughter blinds the waves? Why also the waves become a minefield beneath everything? Why fish don't have feet?

155. Do you not see a threat in the bloody silk of a poppy?
A. Is it true that the red tear of dawn can be a threat?
B. Is it true that the red painted laughter of a clown is a threat?
C. Why the yellow color of a sun-flower feels poisonous ? Why the white blood of cyclamens feels innocent? How can white be innocent when it is the color of the dead?
D. Why is the bloody silk of a poppy innocent? Why is it too naked to hide its deep blood?
E. Why is the bloody silk of the poppy innocent? why does it try to enchant us with its new dress, like a girl?

156. Do you not see that the apple tree flowers only to die in the apple?
A. Why do we die each day a little in order to live, why don't we live in order to die?
B. Why do the apple tree flowers live in order to change, to grow, in order to bear an apple?
Why mothers always die a little inside a child?
C. Why are the apple flowers faithful? Why do they stay in the apple longer, much longer than what the apple knows?
D. Why everything changes all the time, pollen to flower, flower to apple, apple in a pie?
Why change is hard work?

157. Do you not weep surrounded by laughter with bottles of oblivion?
A, Why does your laughter forgets? Why does the laughter of a clown remembers?
B. Why do we forget all the time? Why no one is ready to what he forgot?
C. Why do we weep, somewhere inside our laughter? Can we forget and remember at the same moment?
D. Why weeping is not enough to forget, and yet we weep/
Why laughter is not enough to forget?
Why forgetting is such hard work?

158.To whom does the ragged condor report after its mission?
A. Is it true that the ragged condor is a family creature? Is it true it reports to the family after the mission?
B. Do condors make family in order to continue the genes or do they fall deeply in love?
C. It is strange how the ragged condor loves his family? Does it have also beloved friends?

159. What do they call the sadness of a solitary sheep?
A. Why the sadness of the solitary sheep is the solitude? Why don't they join the others? Why do they think that being solitary makes them special?
B. How can the herd, the family, the warmth, become a crowd? why crowds are blind? How do they blind us?
C. Why the solitary sheep feels free? Why freedom has always something sad inside it?
D. Why the sadness of the solitary sheep is the sadness of someone lost, of the big nostalgia for the family of sheep?

160. And what happens in the dovecote if the doves learn how to sing?
A. Why the song of the dove is a cacophony? Why don't they train better the coir? why do they disturb the neighbors' sleep?
B. Why dove need the silence? Why the cacophony may make them lose their compass, the way home?
C. Why do the doves believe their cacophony is music? Why are they right? Why each sound has music somewhere inside it?

!61.If the flies make honey will they offend the bees?
A. Why, if flies begin making honey, there will be a territorial war in the garden?
B. If bees cover our plate of meet in a bee cloud, will the flies be offended?
C. Why, if bees get glued to all our lamps, the flies, exiles, will be enraged?
D. Why do flowers give nectar only to the bees, are they acquaintances? Do they know the bees by name?

162. How long does the rhinoceros last after he's moved to compassion?
A. Why rhinoceros are compassionate with the new born? Do genes nneed compassion in order to continue?
B. How long does a rhinoceros last, compassionate or not, when they shoot it for the horn?
C. Why do gangsters feel compassion for no one, not even for themselves? Why don't the Google the words: strong, harsh? Why do they think they are the same?
D. How long governments last after they move to compassion? Is it true that it is a mystery because it never happened yet?

163. What's new for the leaves of recent spring?
A. Why do leaves repeat themselves each year? Why are they always different?
Why do they have each one its own date of autumn? And how many autumns exist?
B. What happens to bear when they wake up in spring? Does it happen to us too/ finding unexpected things in our life? How long can the sleep of a human last?
C. Why leaves fall in a cascading wave? Is death contagious?

164.In winter, do the leaves live in hiding with the roots?
A. How come roots don't suffer from the claustrophobia of the dark? How can they see? How can they remember, calm, precise, what tree they were, if they were a tree or at most a bush? Is it true that no one is ready for what roots remember?
B. Why, when it's autumn in our life, the roots fill our nights with fallen moon leaves? Are roots a reminder, an alarm clock in our depth?
C. Why do we love and un-love roots? Why do roots remember so much, even the leaves we want to forget? Why do they bind us to themselves like nocturnal hand cuffs?
D. Why no one knows what he hides in his roots, his spring leaves, his autumn leaves? why no one knows that the roots hide in him? Why is it a children game of hide and seek, why does the game continue up to the last leaf?

165. What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
A. What did the earth learn from the tree? What did the sky learn from the tree ? Is it true that they learned how to talk to each other, with or without a God between them?
B. Why is the tree a bridge between earth and sky? Why bridges measure the distances between things?
C. why the earth and the sky speak in the same language? How come we forgot to speak to both? How come all we learned is to measure the void between them?
D. Why do we think that the gods speak in the sky? How come we forget the heaven and hell
Are just a breath apart, no more?

166. Does he who is always waiting suffer more than he who never waited anymore?
A. Why waiting is hard work? Why not waiting anymore is not a holiday?
B. why don't we know how to live without future? Why the future is full of waiting? why even the ones who wait for nothing, waits each moment?
C. is it true that the ones who don't wait have the same genes of those who wait? Is it true that silencing these genes is a civil war?

167. Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?
A. Is it true that the rainbow exists and doesn't exist at the same time?
Does it have to end in a place that exists and doesn't exist: the horizon, or the address of the soul?
B. Why the rainbow doesn't exist , so it cannot end?
C. Why the rainbow is a colored dream? Why don't we know where dreams end, if the end?
D. Why the rainbow, beautiful as magic, must end in something utterly natural, unpoetic: time?

168. Perhaps heaven will be, for suicides, an invisible star?
A. Perhaps the big sufferers, the suicides, take care of their own heaven?
Why there is no heaven for suicides?
B. If suicide believe in heave, why do they kill themselves? Do they think death knows the way to glorious afterlife?
C. Why the big sufferers, the suicides, must believe in something? How come they don't know there is no paradise for pain?
D. Why heaven is an invisible star for the living, for the dying? why even feelings are more visible?

169. Where are the vineyards of iron from where the meteor falls?
A. Why do stars eat iron grapes, why do they spit the seeds at us?
B. Why do stars share their iron grapes? Are they so heavenly? Don't they know that too much heaven can kill us?
C. Where are the vineyards of rust from where the meteors come? How can they come like a disaster, like a gift of minerals that make us what we are
D. Why do we eat from the vineyard of stars: the grapes of iron, the grapes of coal, the grapes of warmth? Why are we star eaters?

!70. Who was she who made love to you in your dream, while you slept?
A. Why dreams are a harem? Why can't you remember if you made love to wife number 3 or concubine number three? Are day dreams a harem too?
B. whose is the body lying in your bed in the morning? Why did you think dreams are impotent?
C. Why do our dreams begin in the deep past? Why everything happens in Sodoma?

171. Where do the things in dreams go? Do they pass to the dreams of others?
A. Why are some dreams contagious? Why do they make others dream the same dream: war or eternal peace? Do they use telepathy or telecommunication?
B. why some dreams choose where they'll go? Why some dreams are a touch visible only in the big nostalgia?
C. Why some dreams are time resistant? How did they come from very far like the dream of bread? Is it true that hunger is written in our genes?

172. And does the father who lives in your dreams die again when you wake up?
A. Why do the dead die again and again in each forgetting?
B. Why do the dead don't resuscitate each time we remember them, why don't they live memory after memory?
C. why, when we wake up from a dream, so many things die inside us: the big decisions, the big acts? Why only the remorse remains utterly alive?

173. In dreams, do plants blossom and their solemn fruit ripens?
A. Why do mothers have to dream in order to let the fruit inside them ripen? Why are dreams hormones?
B. Why is the world so confusing? Why don't we know if reality begins in a dream, like the dream of the thighs of a body, if dreams begins in reality, like something we remember even though we forgot?
C. Why do dreams remember all the blossoms that didn't happen? Why don't we remember the blossom sleeping in our arms?

174. Where is the child i was, still inside me on gone?
A. Why children leave us when they grow? Why don't they realize they are their own father? A dead end?
B. Why being a child is hard work? The eternal ring of laughter, the eyes having to open in wonder? Why doesn't the child leave us sooner, much sooner?
C. Is it true that some children stay inside us because no one else wants them?

175. Does he know that I never loved him and that he never loved me?
A. Why loving is such hard work, especially when you are locked in the same cell?
B. Is it true that the child inside us never loved us? Is it true that it loved only himself?
C. Why the child in the belly doesn't love us? Why loving is not written in the genes?

176. Why did we spend so much time growing only to separate?
A. Why spending time together is a bridge? Why bridges unite us, and measure the distances between us?
B. Why paring is indispensable? why even the branches of a tree part? Why staying together
Is the preparation for parting? Why everything is unfinished, even the parting of child?
C. Why, when we grow together, room becomes smaller, smaller than the silence? why the only choice we choose is to separate? Why don't we make the room bigger? Why don't we make the silence smaller?

177. Why did we both not die when my childhood die?
A. Why when our childhood dies we are too busy to notice? Why do we get used so easily to die little by little?
B. Why don't we die together with the child? Why raising a child for a whole life time is hard work?
C. why there is no one to mourn the death of a childhood when there is no child left?

178. And why does my skeleton pursue me if my soul has fallen away?
A. Why the soul falls so often, as if it was the acrobat of eternity? Why it cannot see us from the tall tight rope?
B. Why the soul believes in nothing except itself? Why does it fall? Why does it leaves us soul-less, natural as magic?
C. Why only our body looks for us? Why does the body love us more than anything else?

179. Is the yellow of the forest the same as last year's?
A. Why are there repetitions everywhere, even in the yellow of the forest? Why everything repeats itself in order to be different?
B. Are the leaves a different yellow because of the different time rustling in them? Or do they keep the old yellow because of the big nostalgia?
C. why leaves buy and sell hues in the second hand market of seasons? How can we know if they sell their old color as if they were new?

180. And why does the black flight of the relentless seabird repeat itself?
A. Why the black flight written in the genes, the eternity of the sea bird? Why eternity mutate so often, why can it be a white flight?
B. Why does hunger repeats itself, more black, more relentless than the flight?
C. Why the chicks of the seabird repeat themselves ? why is their hunger bigger than their beaks, bigger than their life? why does the hunger repeat itself in order to be different, Maybe bigger?

181. And is where space ends called death or life?
A. why everything is unfinished, even eternity? Is it true we can add always a month, a century more? Why death is unfinished? Why does it travel into the world , always more? Why isn't it exhausted?
B. why space doesn't end? Why we cannot jump out of the universe to see it?
Why death doesn't end? Why the dead are dead always more?
C. Why one breath divides hell and heaven? Why this breath is the only infinite we own?

182. What weiighs more heavily on the belt, sadness or memories?
A. Why memories keep in our belt the whole past? Why the past was a fruit gatherer? Why did it gather for centuries the sad fruit? Why fruits are sad? Why one spring is not enough?
B. why sadness has, like everything else, its own eyes? Why does it find the sadness everywhere, even in the laughter of a child, and for sure, in memories?
C. Why sadness is such a strange artist? Why does it erase all the colors? Why everything is colorless, like absence? Why the colorless is the true sadness?

183. And what is the name of the month that falls between December and January?
A. Why do we give names to time? Does time know its name? will it come walking when we call it by name?
B. why, even when we give time a name, we don't know the name of the infinites between two tiny moments: now, tomorrow, always, never, life death?
C. Why everything is a number, even god? Why even time between December and January is an infinite number? Why should time count it? does it make it more infinite?

184. By what authority did they number the twelve grapes in the cluster?
A. why do we give a number to everything? Why even the distance between one grape and the other is a number? why nature is not a tidy place? Why do we want to tidy it at all cost?
B. Why between one grape and the other there are small infinites? Why does the infinite need numbers? Does it like the thought that there are not enough numbers to count it?
Is it vain enough to count how infinite it is?
C. By what authority do the numbers count us? Who lets them count even the distances inside our silence?

185. Why didn't they give us longer months than last year?
A .Why do we have to divide time? Like a child dividing its candies? Does it make us feel richer?
B. Why do we have to divide time? Why do we need to know what time it is in our life?
C. Why don't we trust a month that lasts a whole year? Why do we suspect it will be an uninterrupted autumn?
D. Why nature divides itself into seasons? Why do variations amuse it?
E. Why, the older we grow, the months become shorter? Does also time grow old and tired?

186. Did spring never deceive you with kisses that never blossom?
A. Why spring is a hazard game? Why does it promise kisses, and you never know who lost, who won, if there was a winner?
B. Why spring is a slave trader? why does it buy you for the price of a kiss? Why its money is paper?
C. Why it is not spring that deceived you but the kiss, or at least, the lips?

187. In the middle of autumn do you hear yellow explosions?
A. why do we think age comes regular, little by little? Why don't we hear the grey explosions in each wrinkle?
B. Why do we think spring is explosive? Why don't we hear the preparations in each petal, silent, precise, inevitable? Why don't we hear how quiet is the pollen , deserted, deserting?
C. Why everything is an explosion? Why do we have to learn, to be ready for everything: the explosions of life, of love? Why no one is eternal enough to learn how to die?

188. By what reason or injustice does the rain weep itts joy?
A. Why creation gave us only one kind of tears, for joy and for sadness? Why does it confuse us? Why don't we know what tears we chose?
B. What tears do we use when we cry without reason? is each moment the right time to cry?
And is there a right and a wrong time?
C. Why clowns laugh and cry at the same time? Why do we go to the circus two by two? Why we don't dare feeling alone what a clown feels?

189. Which birds lead the way when the flock takes flight?
A. Why path-finders have to find the way in their memories in order to lead, why even elephants are no exception?
B. Is it true that only the one with the deep compass, the one who can put order in the chaos of wings, will lead?
C. Is it true that only the bird which knows how to use nature: the wind, the rain, which lets itself guided, can guide the birds?

190. From what does the hummingbird hang its dazzling symmetry?
A. Why everything is a repetition of the shapes of nature? Why all these repetitions became a tiny bird and not an eagle?
B. Does the symmetry of the hummingbird hang from the need of tidiness? From the urge for beauty? Or from the urge for love, the urge to continue the genes of symmetry?
C. How can a hummingbird hang from a rainbow, even when the rainbow doesn't exist?

191. Are the breasts of the sirens spiral shells from the sea?
Or are they petrified waves on the stationary play of the spume?
A. Why do the sirens glue shells to their breasts? Did they grow old and their breasts are sagging? Can something eternal grow old?
B. Why the sirens, more than lovers, are symbols of love? Why symbols need something showy to make them visible? Why the spiral shells on the breasts are indispensable?
C. why some breasts are hard shells, and some, foam? Why both sooth the tears of the fish?
D. Why the breasts of the sirens are like stone: layer beneath layer of eternity? Why time rolls also in what's eternal? Why doesn't it softens them? let them play with the spume?
E. Why does the sea begin in the tears of a fish? Why tears don't petrify?

192 Hasn't the meadow caught fire with the wild fireflies?
A. Why fireflies are a candle? Why do they use only their body to burn?
B. Why fireflies burn for love, like a meadow of poppies? How much fire does love need in order to be love?
C. Why bullets release spikes: fireflies? Can death be a cold fiire?

193.Did autumn's hairdressers uncomb these chrysanthemums?
A. Why do autumn's hairdressers paint the trees blod? Why do they need a red ribbon?
B. Why autumn's hairdressers don't provide a wig for the bald trees? Is baldness in fashion?
C. Why the wind: the comb and hairdresser, is not enough? Why does nature need in its beauty shop more much more personnel? Why the rain is indispensable, and the brush to paint the hair?

194. When i see the sea once more will the sea have seed or not seen me?
A. Why the sea is in our genes? Why also when we don't see it, it sees us?
B. Why, the more we see the sea, the more it sees us? Does it remember our face in the water? Does it remember us the way it remembers the fish?
C. Why seeing is touching? Why each thing touches in its own way: with eyes, with fingers, with the wide palms of a wave?

195. Why do the waves ask me the same question I ask them?
A. Why there are too few questions and too many answers? Why each thing has to ask the same question? Why no one knows which answer is its own?
B. Why waves are made of time and water, like us? Why can't we ask time our questions? Why we have no choice except asking each other?
C. why there is a mine field beneath the wide feet of a question? Why do we repeat a question in order to feel safe?
D. Why, in order to know, we have to know what to ask? Why do we think that the waves know the right question better than us?

196. and why do they strike the rock with so much passion?
A. Why do the rock strike the waves with so much passion? Does passion love passion?
B. why it is not the waves, but the whole sea that strikes the rock? Why is it a war of giants? Why no one wins, no one loses? why does it continue?

197. Don't they get tired of repeating their declarations to the sand?
A. Why motions are consumed by repetition? Why do we have to repeat ourselves in order to survive?
B. Why everything repeats itself in order to be different? Why becoming different is never boring?
C. Why don't we know what the waves declare: love, war? Why mystery never bores us?
D. Why do we see only the tall motions of the waves? Why we don't notice the minute motions of the sand, why we don't know how deep the sand is, why don't we know what big is?

198. who can convince the sea to be reasonable? What's it get from demolishing blue amber, green granite?
A. Why nature doesn't need reasons to be what it is? Is it its way to avoid remorse, regret?
B. Why the sea needs, like us, tenderness? Why a tender breeze may convince it, more tha preaching?
C.. Why the sea is a Mandala? Why does it take out its precious stones, why it demolishes them in one gesture?
D. Why is the sea a mine of precious stones? Why only the sirens can use them? Why do they make them seem more naked?
E. Why does the sea sweats its salt, why the sweat is like the sweat of a human, precious crystals?

199. And why so many wrinkles and so many holes in the rock?
A. Why rocks were the first book ever? Why each wrinkle was a phrase men wrote? Why each hole is the eye of the beast inside the cane of the rocks? Why does it read us?
B. Why rocks were a violent place. Why each hole was a bullet, why beneath wrinkle a knife? Why the dead are petrified, why do they make the rock bigger, more terrible?
C. Why the war of the giants: the sea, the rocks, wound but don't kill them? Are they eternal? Can eternity be wounded? Does it know how to cry?

200. I came from behind the sea, now where do I go when it cuts me off?
Why did I close the road, falling into the sea's trap?
A. Why, when we come behind the sea, the only way to continue is to learn again how to breath water?
B. why you don't come from behind the sea, why you come from the sea?
Why, in order to cross the sea, you have to invent Noah's arc or at least a boat?
C. Why the sea was never a trap? Why was it a mother? Why the road to land was opened, why a lung was enough?
D. Why, when we close a road, we open another one? Why when we close the road on land we invent another road: a boat? Why boats fear and love the traps of the sea?

201. Why do I hate cities, smelling of women and urine?
A. Why cities are nature too? The smell of delicate gazelles and the urine of the male in heat?
Why don't we like all the smells of love?
B. Why for some, platonic love is true love, refined, bodiless? Why do they believe love is a thought, a symbol? A nice statue dressed in stone?
C. Why, for some, the body, its vital fluids, its vital smell, are disgusting? Why life is never disgusted?

202. isn't the city the great ocean of quaking mattresses?
A. Aren't the meadows a city, a green ocean? Why does the pollen float over the quaking mattresses of a flower?
B. Isn't the ocean a big city? Why do the fish quake with and without mattresses?

203. Doesn't the Oceania of the wind have islands and palm trees?
A. Why islands are farmers of the sea? Why do they sow more islands, why do they sow winds instead of trees?
B. Why islands are the artists of the sea? Why do they draw a map of other islands? Why do they invent a map of trees?
C. Why islands are the big dreamers? Why do they copy islands, trees, they saw in a distant dream?

204. Why did I return to the indifference of the limitless ocean?
A. Why does the limitless ocean begin in our eyes? Why do we return always to where we began, even when it hurts us?
B. How did we return to the limitless? Why the limitless is a prison you cannot leave, you cannot return?
C. Does the indifference of the ocean begin in our eyes, and where does it end, if it ends?
Why are all the oceans llimitless?

205. How large was the octopus that darkened the day's peace?
A. Why are we never peaceful, with or without a black octopus?
B. Why the sun eclipse, the black octopus darken our peace? Why didn't we find peace even before the octopus? Who is guilty, who is innocent?
C. Why do we fear the sun eclipse, the dark octopus ? why do we feel that one octopus a day is enough?
D. Why no one is ready for his black octopus in the middle of the day?

206. Where its branches made of iron and its eyes, of dead fire?
A. Why the black octopus is made of shadows? Why shadows have such a bad reputation? Why shadows may be the tears of the sun?
B. Why the sun throws each day black octopuses on the ground? Is the sun a serial killer?
C. Why iron octopuses are useful, and the fire in the eyes? Why are they a whole army of killers?

207. And why did the tricolored whale cut me off the road?
A. Why do we paint whales, each in his own color, like a flag? Why do weneed such big flags? Do big flags make us bigger?
B. Why do they carry the whales to earth? why do they pain them? Why flags are dead whales?

208. Who devoured before my eyes a shark covered with pustules?
Who was guilty, the squall or the blood stained fish?
A. Why wars are a shark, a smelly one, covered with pustules? Why these shark devour themselves, or at most, devoured by another smelly shark?
B. Why do blood stained fish are always guilty? Why do they bleed? Why is it their blood that excites the sharks? Why the ones who loses is always guilty?

209. is this continual breaking the order or the battle?
A. Why wars cannot break the order of nature? Why when they say they conquered the sea, the sea remains, without a blink, in its place?
B. Do sharks kill because one sea is not enough?
C. Why wars are never tidy? Why do they create their own order: rows of dead bodies, rows of cut heads? Why do they call the death order?
D. Why wars are anarchy? How can they break what doesn't exists: the order? Why nature is never a tidy place?
E. Why sharks are scavengers? Why do they clean the sea from dirty blood? Why the blood of others is dirty?
F. Why sharks are vampires? Do they drink the blood in order to be legendary?
G. Why do sharks devour sick sharks? Do they want to keep the race pure?

210. Is it true that swallows are going to settle on the moon?
Will they carry spring with them, tearing it from the cornice/
A. Why, at night, there are swallows surrounded by the moon? Are they shadows? Can shadows be colonizers? Will the colonizers have to leave at dawn?
B. Why paintings can halt time? Why can we grasp it on the canvass?
Can we tear off time from the canvass and make it our own?
C. Why is everybody, even the swallows, star eaters? Why do they tear from the sky the star dust: iron, carbon and other delicacies?
D. did the swallows begin in the moon? Is it true that the urge to return home is bigger than ourselves, bigger than our life, no matter how shabby the home is, no matter the dust on what we remember?

211. Will the swallows take off in autumn? Will they search for traces of bismuth by pecking in the sky? And will they return to the balconies dusted with ash?
A. Is it true that men are going to send swallows to explore the moon before they'll blow the earth to pieces? An immense autumn: leaves falling: bombs, napalm?
Is it true the turtles will search for explosives in the star dust in the sky? Is it true they'll prepare the moon to be blown?
Is it true there when there will be nowhere to return, the swallows will have to invent another star, no matter how shabby it is, in this life, or at least, invent an after life?

212. Why don't they send moles and turtles to the moon?
Couldn't the animals that engineer hollows and tunnels take charge of these diistant inspections?
A. Why turtles and moles, like everybody else, dig each night a secret tunnel to the moon? Why do they stay on earth?
B. Why turtles and moles are ancient and secretive? Couldn't they dig a tunnel to the moon for a million years? Couldn't they be the first to colonize the moon?
C. Why the bi-pad animals that engineer hollows are so successful? Why the hollows are big enough to reach the moon or even the star?
D. Why poets dig tunnels to the moon? Why are they the engineer of nostalgia?
E. Why turtles dig paths in the sea? Why don't they go to the moon? Which spy told them that the moon sea is dry?
F. Why moles that dig immense tunnel couldn't inspect the works on the moon? Why the moon light blinds them?
G. Why the moon is one big rock? Why chewing the way is hopeless?

213. You don't believe that dromedaries keep moonlight in their humps?
A. Why the moon in the dromedaries humps foams, urinates, when it feels romantic?
B. Why dromedaries with moon in their humps feel romantic? Why are they frustrated?
Why the moon can create love but not a lover?
C. Why the best love poems were written on the dromedaries humps full of moon?
Why don't they publish them? Why are the publishers biased?
214. Don't they sow it in the desert with secret persistence?
A. Why the moon is a rock and not a seed? why the dromedaries can sow in the desert only the sun? why do they burn the sand?
B. Why the desert is written in the dromedaries genes? Why is it the desert that sows them everywhere? Why does it give them the humps, utterly non elegant? Why can't it find a suit that fits them?

215.And hasn't the sea been lent for a brief time to earth?
A. Why do they call the desert a sea of sand? Are the dromedaries fish? And who taught them to swim? Who taught them how to breath water?
B. Why do they lend the sea to so many things: the desert, the eye of love, a huge cemetery?
Why don't they leave the sea in peace?

216. Won't we have to give it back with its tides to the moon?
A. Why the moon steals the tide from the sea? Why should we give back what is not its own?
B. Why the tide rises to the moon? Is it a moon lover? Why should we let it stay there, after all, it is a love story?
C. Why the tide belongs to the sea and to the moon? Shouldn't we share it in two halves?

217. Wouldn't it be best to outlaw interplanetary kisses? Why don't they analyze these things before outfitting other planets?
A. Why should we outlaw burning love? Why the interplanetary kisses can flow, hotter, more beautiful than lava, in the delicate lips?
B. Why should we outlaw the love between planets?
Why should we outlaw love between people?
Are there loves that are pure and loves that are a sin?
C. Why can't we foresee love? Why love is so reckless? Why it is more unpredictable than the weather? Why can't we analyze love?
D. Why love between planets is a risk lover? an acrobat walking on a tight rope in the middle of the void?
E. Why love between planets is so explosive? is it true that love can kill? How can we protect ourselves from explosive love?

218. And why not the platypus who is dressed for space?
A. Why is the platypus patriotic, an earth lover? And who dressed it in space suit, and why?
B. Why dome creatures are nostalgic? Why do they keep the childhood cloths from the time when the earth was new? Do they keep their photos in the album?

219. Weren't the horseshoes made for horses on the moon?
A. Why only the moon horse was a Pegasus? Why did it use horse shoes for decoration? Why did it think they were beautiful?
B. Why the Pegasus was the first moon spy? Why did it think that horse shoes were enough to conceal it?
C. Why did they experiment with horse shoes on distant rock of earth? was it a secret mission to invade the moon?

220. And what was beating in the night? Were they planets or horse shoes?
A. Why planets need horse shoes? Why don't they know it is useless to ride faster and to arrive to the same place, at the same time?
B. Why in the races there are always orbits of horses , of planets? Why do they race always at night? Is it true they try to enter the orbit of our dreams?

221. This morning must i choose between the naked sea and the sky?
A. Why everything is a cross road? Even there where the sea melts in the sky?
Why do we have to choose always? Why mistakes love our choice?
B. Why, in the evening, I have to choose between the burning sea and the burning sky?
Why isn't there a better choice?
.

D. Why the morning sky is a young girl? Why is she too shy to appear naked in front of the whole world?
E. Why the dawn sky is an ancient Goddess? Why does she need all her charms in order to seem a century or two younger?

222. What was awaiting me in Isla negra? The green truth or decorum?
A. Why the truth and decorum are never the same thing? Why green truth may be green hell?
B. Why exile is always hell, even exile to a green heaven?
C. Why the distances between truth and decorum are too big foor the island? Why, at least one of them will drown?

223. Why was I not born mysterious? Why did I grow up without companions?
A. Why are we all born mysterious? Why don't we know who we are, where we began, where we go? Why the shamans were substituted by psychologists the big torturersof mystery?
B. Why mystery is a moon? Why does it need the distances of the dark in order to shine?
C. Why don't we realize how mysterious is to be born? Why are we born alone? Why don't we forget it?

224. Who ordered me to tear down the doors of my own pride?
A. Why somewhere we realize that pride is a lonely place, that loneliness is a closed door
And the thought of a key ?
B. Why pride is the fear of closeness? Why fear is a closed door, and the despair that can tear it down?
C. Why the door of pride are not opened easily? Why do we have to do it, slowly, defeat by defeat? And who defeats whom?
D. Why pride doesn't know it is a paper castle? Why isn't it careful with the match box in it hand?

225. And who went out to live for me when I was sleeping or sick?
A. Why do we sleep or fall sick when we know no one can live for us? Why do we play with danger?
B. Why dreams live us when we sleep, why do they continue to do it also when we are awake?
C. Why when we are sick. Pain lives for us? And who asked it for this favor?

226. And which flag unfurled there where they didn't forget me?
A. Why do we have to furl and unfurl the flag continuously? Why remembering and forgetting play with each other as if they were two toys of life?
B. Why at times we don't want to be remembered, maybe we are not proud of who we were?
Why flags may be embarrassing?
C. Why do we need, to be remembered even post mortem, even though we don't believe in after life? Why the only flag is a shroud?

227. And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion?
A. why there iis no courtroom of oblivion? Not even the past? Why the past writes letters to itself on my lap? Why does the past remembers, no matter how much we try to confuse it
B. why everything is time inside time? Why time counts everything, even me? Why it cannot omit even one digit? Why time is so obsessive?

228. Which is the true picture of how the future will turn out?
A. Why the future may be a man with a stone ax, going for the 4th world war?
B. Why the future may be an empty world, why the only life may be the rocks? Why there may be still a last question?
C. Why don't we want to foresee the future? Why do we need the hope, so badly?

229. Is it the grain seed among the yellow masses?
Or is it the bony heart that delegate of the peach?
A. Why the sun is the endless yellow mass? Why there is sun in everything: the sunflowers, the grains, the fruits? How come it doesn't melt the bones of the fruits?
B. Why there is sun, the yellow mass, in everything: the grain, the fruits, the warmth? Is it true we are sun eaters?
C. Why the sun, the yellow mass, is in everything, also in time? Why time is not yellow?
D. Why the soft peach needs a bony heart? Why everything has to protect its genes from rotting? why does it harden the hearts?

230. Does the living drop of mercury run downwards forever?
A. Can the drop of mercury fall from one side of the globe to the other? Will it arrive to the big void? why what is up and down in the void is the same?
B. Why nothing is forever, not even the infinite: the universe, god? Why the drop of mercury stops falling when there is no down left?
C. Why, for us, everything ends when we end: the drop of mercury, the world? Why do we kill the future when we end?

231.will my sorrowful poetry watch with my own eyes?
A. Why nothing, no one, exists alone? Why the sadness I write uses my eyes and the eyes of others?
B. Why, no matter how many fences we build around our eyes, our personal eyes ,our gazes dissolves in each other like foam, why dissolving is also uniting?
C. Why, no matter how many borders we build around sad eyes, our gazes are birds, smugglers of borders, smugglers of dreams?
D. Why sadness is contagious? Why my sad poems weep in my eyes, in the eyes of others?
E. do we write sad poems? Why is it easier, no matter what mood blows in our eyes?
Why does it feel deeper than happiness? Why is it so difficult to write a happy poem?

232. Will I have my smell and my pain when, destroyed, I go on sleeping?
A. Why the salt smell and the pain are the big insomnia? Why don't we use pills to help them sleep? Do they fall asleep when we sleep for the last time?
B. Why the salty smells and the bitter pain are the menu for our night meals?
Why don't we add some sugar or at least saccharine to make them happy, to let them sleep?

233. What does it mean to persist on the alley of death?
A. Why living is to persist on the alley of life? How does it know that the alley of death is parallel? Why in the mad cemetery of the world, the parallels meet?
B. Why fear persists on the alley of death? why fear and death are best friends? Why don't they know it?
C. Why we'll all die one day, why some will arrive to the traffic light of death on the alley of life, and some on the alley of daily dying?
D. Why persisting on the alley of death means life entangled with small daily deaths, and one big death? Is it the Gordian knot, is there someone eternal enough to cut it?

234. How in salt's desert is it possible to blossom?
A. Why the sea is a salt desert? Why fish blossom there with the most beautiful petals?
B. Why in the salt desert Flamingos blossom? Why do they steal the colors of the crubs?

235. In the sea of nothing happens, are there clothhes to die in?
A. Why there is no place where nothing happens, not even the void? Why do we think that a dignified death in dignified clothes, is lighter?
B. Why do we need clothes to die? Why death is the end of fashion, among all the other ends?

236. Now that the bones are gone, who lives in the final dust?
A. Why bones are as eternal as dust? Why are bones so talkative? Why do they tell stories the dust doesn't?
B. Why, inside a bone, there may be still Dinosaurs? Why is the dust a blanket to sooth them from the ice age?
C. Why nothing is final? Why the world is an engineer? Why does it use the dust in its factory of living?

237. How is the translation of their language arranged with the birds?
A. Why birds sing notes? why don't they use poets to write words to the notes? Why do they leave the translators unemployed?
B. Why birds sing only in their own language? Why do they think that with all their travelling, translation is hard work?
C. Why birds are so advanced technologically? When did they begin using Google translation? Why the translation is not too clear?

238. How do I tell a turtle that I am slower than he?
A. Why do we have to be polite? Why do we tell the turtle he is a sprinter?
B. Why do I have to raise my voice? Why do I want the turtle, somewhere ahead of me,
To hear me?
C. Why do turtles love their own rhythm? Why do they feel that one step at a time is enough? Why don't they mind what the others think about their style?

239. How do I ask a flea for his championship stats?
A. Why don't I have to ask the flea anything? Why it is my skin that will know which medal to award it?
B. Why is it easier to ask the dead in the black plaggue which flea has more muscle?

240. Or tell the carnations that I am grateful for their fragrance?
A. Why should I thank everything: the fragrance of a flower, the taste of soup, the colors of a rainbow? Should I also thank the soul of a snake?
B. Why should I thank the flowers for their calm, so close to their roots? Why should I thank fleas for their restless speed, for their Olympic jumps?

241. Why do my faded clothes flutter like a flag?
A. Why am I a miser? Why do I buy second hand clothes because I didn't find third hand? Why second hand clothes never know my true size?
B. Why can clothes wave like a flag around us? Can clothes protest against hunger? Can clothes be hungry? Is there a revolution of clothes, even though we don't dare shout?

242. Am I sometimes evil, or am I always good?
A. Why we cannot forget the sea we came from? Why goodness and evil come like waves, one after the other, one beneath the other?
B. Why are we good because we are afraid to be punished by something: fate, God? So is goodness evil?
C. Why often we are good because it is worthwhile? Is our evil goodness?
D. Why good and evil depend on the rules of the market?
Why money makes us good, even though it is just paper?

243. Do we learn kindness or the mask of kindness?
A. Why the mask of kindness can glue slowly to our face? Why kindness can become a habit before we realize it?
B. Why there are no masks? Why do we need many faces in order to live: calm, anxious, kind, unkind? Why all the faces are the true us?
C. Why kindness doesn't make us always kind? Why does it simply make us feel shame when we are unkind? Why judging ourselves is hard work?

244. Isn't the rosebush of evil white and aren't the flowers of goodness black?
A. Why good and evil have many colors? Why do they try to confuse us? Why do thhey succeed?
B. Why do we create symbols of everything? Why reality doesn't know what symbols are?
And why ignorance is worse than a killer?

245. Who assigns names and numbers to the innumerable innocent?

A. Why the guilty have many dictionaries? Why these dictionaries give the names of guilt to the innocent? Why the innocent don't write their own dictionaries? Why don't they baptize themselves with the name their mother called them? Why the name was innocent?
B. Why can't we count the innumerable? Why each number, each name we give will be a plot against the infinite? why the infinite doesn't protest?
C. Why no one is utterly innocent, utterly guilty? Why should we use half names, half numbers?

246. Does the drop of metal shine like a syllable in my song?
A. Why the syllables of a song may be fluid, a drop of water, a drop of metal? Why do I see my face in the fluid? Why is it better to write solid poems or at least short?
B. Why tears may be molten metal? Are the tears a cauldron of mercy, hot enough to melt it?
C. Why tears are molten metal, like the sun, like lava? Why are they both?

247. Does a word sometimes slither like a serpent?
A. Why words are the most agile creature that exists? Why they may be the motion of a serpent or the woman-rubber in the circus?
B. Why words are a picture of what we are? why some words may slither, invisible, like a serpent? Why words can be serial killers?

248. Didn't a name like an orange creep into your heart?
A.. Why do we have a river of words in our mouth? Why do we bear whatever exixts from this river: fish, birds, giraffes, men?
B. Why words creep into us? Why do we swallow them like a fruit? Why don't we notice the thick peel around what they say?
C. Why some words are a butterfly, a question of foam? Why do we let them flutter into us? Is it true that when we say them they are also an answer? Why answers are heavy?

249. From which river do fish come? From the word: silversmiting?

A.. Why do fish return to the river they came from? Why , if we are very patient, we can know where they began? why we can even find the dictionary of rivers and of fish ?
B. Why fish don't come from the names we call them? Why do they have their own family tree blooming under the water?

250. when they stow too many vowels, don't sailing ships wreck?
A. Why vowels are supposed to be light? Why cries are a vowel?
Why, a word of pray tearing the air, is a vowel?
B. Why sailing ships are use to vowels? the sigh of the slaves beneath the deck , the secret creaking of the weapons inside them? Why sailing ships don't crack easily by vowels?
C. Why poems may be a ship? Why they may be shipwrecked by too many sighs, too many whispers of tears?

251. Do the O's of the locomotive cast smoke, fire and steam?
A. do the O's of the children train? bear the whistle of the train? Are they the mother of the longest journey
B. When demagogues try to bewitch people, are the O's of the crowd wonder, or a call to silence them when they heard one lie too many?

252. In which language does rain fall over the tormented cities?
A. Why does the rain use the same language over the tormented cities and over the tormented earth? does the rain know Esperanto?
B. Why does the rain use a strange justice? Why does it torment the tormented , why does it sooth the soothed ? why cities are so easily tormented, why rivers are soothing?
C. In which language does the rain fall in the puddle of a child? In which language does it become a sea? In which language does it become a big journey, the biggest?

253. At dawn, which smooth syllables does the ocean air repeat?
A. Why, beneath the red tear of dawn, the ocean repeats the syllables of sadness and even whole phrases? Why sadness is so contagious?
B. Why, at dawn, the ocean repeats the shining syllables of waves? Is the dawn for everybody?
C. Why, at dawn, the nets are cast? Why the ocean repeats liquid syllables, the tears of a fish?
D. Why there are many seas, but only one ocean? Why the people use the same syllables of dawn, as if the dawn came for everybody?

254. Is there a star more wide open that the word poppy?
A. Is there a star more open than the smile of a child? Why its eyes open, bigger than its face, bigger than its life?
B. Why there is no star more open than the word hOrizOn, or hOpe? Why can this star open time captured in the future?

255. Are there fangs sharper than the syllables of 'jackal'?
A. Are there talons sharper than the syllables con-dor?
Is there anything heavier than it feathers?
B. Are there syllables more indifferent than: sentence to death? sharper than the air torn in the bullet?
C. Are there two rows of teeth sharper than the smile of the syllables mur-der?

256. Can you love me, syllabary, and give me a meaningful kiss?
A. Why the word 'love', is not love, why the word 'lips' is not lips, why the word 'kiss' has no experience in kissing? And does the word "meaning' knows what meaning is?
B. Why syllables love platonically? Why Plato thought that a shadow man with a shadow kiss are enough?
C. Is the syllabary male or female? Doesn't it confuse it? does it know what role it has? Why the best thing is changing its sex when needed?

257.Is a dictionary a sepulchre or a sealed honeycomb?
A. Why a dictionary may be a cemetery for forgotten words: 'trust', 'justice'? why it may be the most beautiful cemetery that exists?
B. words are a picture of who we are, what we are? why the dictionary could be the nectar of a bee or a sting?
C. Why do we bury old words in dictionaries? Why don't we recognize them, the mother of what we say, the semen of what we think?
D. Why some words are bigger than themselves? Why tiny syllables like'' I', 'we', 'tear' could begin a whole beehive?

258. In which window did I remain watching buried time?
A. Why everything is a nursery of time and its grave? Why, whatever window we look, we see both?
B. Why sadness kills the unused time? Why in the window of sadness I see the corpses of hours, days, dressed, naked, guilty, innocent?

259. Or is it what I see from afar what I have not yet lived?
A. Why can we see a memory that didn't happen yet? why the past is full of future, much more than what we imagine?
B. Why do we have more, much more than only two eyes: the eyes of hope, the eyes of despair, the curious eyes? How many eyes do we need to see the invisible? How many eyes we need to be happy?
C. Why don't we know that the storm of time will blow in and outside us, no matter what window we use? Why don't know how much time flows in our veins?

260. When does the butterfly read what flies written on its wings?
A. When do butterflies realize that they are flies, that the eye painted on their wings is their eye? Is it true that they paint this eye each day on their wings for beauty?
B. Why butterflies, nailed, wings spread on a board, a catalogue of flies, know they are flies, why they can't read what's written on their wings a moment before eternity?

261. So it can understand its itinerary, which letters does the bee know?
A. Are bees professional dancers? Why they can communicate the itinerary with a wing dance, or maybe a belly dance?
B. Are bees so advanced? How do they sign their itinerary on a magnetic map or a compass, the needle showing north?

262. And with which numbers does the ant subtracts its dead soldiers?
A. Why ants are such great fighters? Why do they attack without counting who is dead, who is alive? Why ants don't have enough tears?
B. Why ants are the artists of big numbers? Why there are such lines of zeros after each digit?
C. Why ants have to use common burials? Why no one knows how many ants enter in one hole?

263. What are Cyclones called when they stand still?
A. What is the eye of the cyclone called when it moves?
B. Is it true that cyclones standing still are living cyclones? Is it true that life is motion, that even stillness is motion?
C. Why cyclones are killers? Why the stillness is studied as a crime?

264. Do thoughts of love fall into extinct volcanoes?
A. Why thoughts of love are a living volcano? Why can they last even more than love? Why the lava flows, almost eternal, like longing?
B. Why there are no extinct volcanoes in our thought, and for sure not volcanoes of love? Why memory is a match box that kindles them whenever they grow cold?
C. Why the craters on our head erupt eternally, like a geyser, a cosmic clock, when our thoughts are not room enough for the pressure of love?

265. Is a crater an act of vengeance or a punishment of the earth?
A. Why destroying is written in the genes of craters, beyond rage? Why don't they study their genes in order to cure themselves? Don't they know that genes are hereditary?
B. Why craters, beyond rage, are a law of nature? Do craters suffer, do they crylike a hungry child? Is it true that hunger is a law of nature?
C. Why are there human craters of vengeance, of punishment around us, inside us? why don't we know who is guilty? Why there is no trial?

266. With which stars do they go on speaking, the rivers that never reach the sea?
A. At night, why do the star flow in the river? Why the long fingers of starlight are so strong? why do they pull the river to the sky, the only sea available?
B. Why stars drown at night in the river? How do they go on speaking when they are drowned? Are they poets? Why do poets write drowning? Do the star sing to the river distant seas?
C. Why rivers don't want to arrive to the sea, why do they rage in front of the sea, there where they'll lose their name? why the stars drowning in their water like the tear of a fish, sooth them?

267. What forced labor does Hitler in hell?
Does he paint walls or cadavers? Does he sniff the fumes of the dead?
Do they feed him the ashes of so many burnt children?
Or, since his death, they give him blood to drink from a funnel?
Or do they hammer into his mouth the pulled god teeth?
Or do they lay him to sleep on his barbed wire?
Or are they tattooing his skin for the lamps of hell?
Or do black mastiffs of flame bite him without mercy?
Or must he travel without rest, night and day, with his prisoners?
Or must he die without dying eternally under the gas?

A. why there is no hell deep enough for Hitler? Why there is no paradise for the ash?
B. Why the heaps of cadavers were a drug, ecstasy? Why the abstinence kills him ?
C. Why there are no cadavers left to paint and how can he paint ash?
D. Why do they feed him the tiny shoes of the dead children? Why there are no teeth enough to chew all these teeth?
E. Why the god teeth they hammer in his mouth cry?
F. Why his skin is rusted? Why it is cruel with the barbed wires?
G. Why his skin is tattooed with dead blood? Why is it the only lamp available from such skin, the only light?
H. Why no dog can bite him, why he bites first? Why dogs fear vampires? Do dogs see them in TV shows?
I. Why doesn't he walk? Why does he crawl in the cold snow? Why the cadavers stole their feet from the frozen market of death?
J. Why must he die without dying, like the condemned to death? why condemnation to death can be more, much more eternal than death?

267. If all the seasons are sweat, where does the sea get its salt?
A. Why are the tears of the fish salty? Why are they enough to fill the sea with salt?
B. Why the sweating earth rolls slowly, invisibly, into the sea? Why does the earth sweat so much?
C. why beneath the sweet earth there are secret quarries of salt? Who produces the quarries? Why do they send it to the sea?

268. How do the seasons know they must change their shirt?
Why so slowly in winter, and later, with such a rapid shudder?
A. Why do the seasons sweat, shiver/ why do they think another shirt will save them?
B. Why the seasons are coquettes? Why do they change their shirt with each changing
Fashion?
C. Why the seasons are scavengers? Why do they gather old clothes from all the seasons? Why do they confuse all the time the clothes?
D. Why the seasons don't have a rooster, the precision of a cry? Why do they have a simple clock which goes too fast or too slowly? Why does the clock leaves them suddenly shivering?
E. Why each force has its own psychology? Why autumn lets us whither little by little? Why winter is an ambush, why does it attack us, sudden, violent like war?

269. And how do the roots know they must climb towards the light?
A. Why roots have their own compass, the sun is always north?
B. Why the psychologist of roots is life? Why do they need the sun in order to be happy?
C. Why roots are so absolute: light or nothing?

270. And then greet the air with so many colors and flowers?
A. How can roots greet the air with colors? Why the years of dark didn't make them color blind?
B. does the air know it is the roots that greet it in colors? Why there are presents too anonymous to know who is the one that is so generous?

271. Is it always the same spring who revives her role?
A. Why time is another kind of god? Why it is never the same spring? Why there is no resuscitation of the dead?
B. Why the roots of spring are the same, the same past? Why the leaves are always different? Why the future is a rebel, why does it want to be always modern, up to date?

272. who works harder on earth, a human or the grain's sun?
A. Why humans and grains, like everything else, are sun eaters? Why do they have to chew the fire will all the teeth they have? Why chewing fir is hard work?
B. Who works harder, the human or the worms? How do worms prepare the cradle of the newborn
C. Why there is no sun that can save the grain or the human from digging the earth?
Why bread is such hard work?

273. between the fir tree and the poppy, whom does the earth love more?
A. Why the earth is saddened by the poppy who will die so soon, why does it respect the eternity of the fir tree? Why there are so many kinds of love?
B. Why the earth is a mother? Why does it love more the difficult child: the poppy that makes love to the bees, to the butterflies and many others, even before it was a child?
C. Why the fir tree is awesome, a god? Why does the earth believe gods are not essential,
They may farm souls but not the bread?
D. Why, in order to become tall, one needs to have its feet in the mud, like a tree?
Why the dirty gold: the feet in the mud, the wheat in the mud, can be tall, as tall as the hunger of a human?
Why the beauty of the useful is invisible beneath the dirty gold?

274. Between the orchids and the wheat which does it favor?
Why a flower with such opulence and the wheat with its dirty gold?
A. How does the beauty of the orchids makes itself useful? Why is it the substance feelings are made of, memories are made of?
B. Why bees are just? Why do they love the dirty gold of the wheat as much as the orchids? Why, the bees see the invisible: the beauty of the useful?
C. Why do we chew the dirty gold in order to survive, why the dirty gold is the true gold?
Why the gold of the orchid can feed only our soul, why this is not enough?

275. Does autumn enter legally or is it an underground season?
A. Why do the seasons try to play hide and seek with time. Like a child? Why don't they remember that time finds them, always?
B. Why the seasons are a law of nature? Why autumn is a rebel? Why does it go to war because it doesn't want to die?
C. Why the seasons don't have a calendar? Why don't they buy one? Why are they an animal of time, they smell the earth , the sky in order to be ready? Why feelings of a human don't have a calendar, and why there is no market to sell it ?
D. Why the seasons are a journey, why journeys have always delays, or they are lost, why they cannot always be on time?

276. Why does it linger in the branches until the leaves fall?
And where are its yellow trousers left hanging?
A. Why autumn is such a perfectionist? Why it cannot rest until it polished the tree from the last leaf?
B. Why autumn is a scavenger? Why does it gather all the leaves available? What is the price of a leaf in the market of second hand things?
C. Why autumn comes naked? Why the yellow trousers are a camouflage? Why does it suffer of icterus that paints it yellow?
D. who paints time? Who chose the yellow color: the autumn or the leaves?

277. Is it true that autumn seems to wait for something to happen?
Perhaps the trembling of a leaf or the movement of the universe?
A. Is it true that everything waits, with a small tremble, for something to happen?
Is it true that no one is ready for his future?
B. Is it true that the seasons exhaust themselves waiting for something to happen?
Is it true that waiting is hard work?
C. Is it true that time exhausts itself in each season? Is it true it continues, always more tired, until a moment before eternity?

278. Is there a magnet under the earth, brother magnet of autumn?
A. How can the universe shake deep in a leaf? Why do we feel the earthquake simply as a tremble?
B. Why leaves follow the orbit of the universe? Is the trembling of a leaf contagious?
C. Why the huge magnetic circle of the world bother with a leaf, and
D. Why only pigeons should have a magnetic center? How will the autumn find its way home? to which orbit does it send it?

279. When is the appointment of the rose decreed under the earth?
A. How can roots, blind, in the dark claustrophobia locate with long fingers of earth, precise, meticulous, the time of the rose?
B. Why the appointment of the rose begins before the first scent? How a drop of sperm in the deep recesses of earth is enough? Is earth a female, and who is the sperm donor?

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