Poets Have The Gift To Speak For

Every Moment Is Nothing Without End.

We Are Condemned To Kill Time, Thus We Die Bit By Bit.

Poetry Is Not Truth, It Is The Resurrection Of Presences.

Images, Memories, Fragmentary Shapes And Forms All Those Sensations, Visions, Half-thoughts That Appear And Disappear In The Wink Of An Eye, As One Sets Forth To Meet.... The Path Also Disappears As I Think Of It, As I Say It.

Contemporary Man Has Rationalized The Myths, But He Has Not Been Able To Destroy Them.