Green How I Want You Green. Green

The Snow Is Falling On The Deserted Field Of My Life, And My Hopes, Which Roam Far, Are Afraid Of Becoming Frozen Or Lost.

The Little Mute Boy The Little Boy Was Looking For His Voice. (the King Of The Crickets Had It.) In A Drop Of Water The Little Boy Was Looking For His Voice. I Do Not Want It For Speaking With; I Will Make A Ring Of It So That He May Wear My Silence On His Little Finger In A Drop Of Water The Little Boy Was Looking For His Voice. (the Captive Voice, Far Away, Put On A Cricket's Clothes.) Translated By William S. Merwin

There Is Nothing More Poetic And Terrible Than The Skyscrapers' Battle With The Heavens That Cover Them.

Everyone Understands The Pain That Accompanies Death, But Genuine Pain Doesn't Live In The Spirit, Nor In The Air, Nor In Our Lives, Nor On These Terraces Of Billowing Smoke. The Genuine Pain That Keeps Everything Awake Is A Tiny, Infinite Burn On The Innocent Eyes Of Other Systems.

A Dead Man In Spain Is More Alive Than A Dead Man Anywhere In The World.