What's The Furthest Corner? Because That's Where

In Our Eyes The Roads Are Endless. Two Are Crossroads Of The Shadow.

The Duende....where Is The Duende? Through The Empty Archway A Wind Of The Spirit Enters, Blowing Insistently Over The Heads Of The Dead, In Search Of New Landscapes And Unknown Accents: A Wind With The Odour Of A Child's Saliva, Crushed Grass, And Medusa's Veil, Announcing The Endless Baptism Of Freshly Created Things.

In Each Thing There Is An Insinuation Of Death. Stillness, Silence, Serenity Are All Apprenticeships.

At Five In The Afternoon. It Was Exactly Five In The Afternoon. A Boy Brought The White Sheet At Five In The Afternoon. A Frail Of Lime Ready Prepared At Five In The Afternoon. The Rest Was Death, And Death Alone

Hour Of Stars (1920) The Round Silence Of Night, One Note On The Stave Of The Infinite. Ripe With Lost Poems, I Step Naked Into The Street. The Blackness Riddled By The Singing Of Crickets: Sound, That Dead Will-o'-the-wisp, That Musical Light Perceived By The Spirit. A Thousand Butterfly Skeletons Sleep Within My Walls. A Wild Crowd Of Young Breezes Over The River.