Look Around—there's Only One Thing Of Danger

To Feel The Love Of People Whom We Love Is A Fire That Feeds Our Life.

You Know How This Is: If I Look At The Crystal Moon, At The Red Branch Of The Slow Autumn At My Window, If I Touch Near The Fire The Impalpable Ash Or The Wrinkled Body Of The Log, Everything Carries Me To You, As If Everything That Exists, Aromas, Light, Metals, Were Little Boats That Sail Toward Those Isles Of Yours That Wait For Me.

Will Our Life Not Be A Tunnel Between Two Vague Clarities? Or Will It Not Be A Clarity Between Two Dark Triangles?

Conspirators In Pajamas Who Exchange Deep Kisses For Passwords.

The Road Made Wet By The Water Of August Shines Like It Was Cut In Full Moonlight