The Poet Is An Untier Of Knots,

Now I Am Nothing But A Veil; All My Body Is A Veil Beneath Which A Child Sleeps.

I Have All That I Lost And I Go Carrying My Childhood Like A Favorite Flower That Perfumes My Hand.

In The Secret Of Night, My Prayer Climbs Like The Liana, My Prayer Is, And I Am Not. It Grows, And I Perish. I Have Only My Hard Breath, My Reason And My Madness. I Cling To The Vine Of My Prayer. I Tend It At The Root Of The Stalk Of Night.

Love Beauty It Is The Shadow Of God On The Universe

We Are Guilty Of Many Errors And Many Faults, But Our Worst Crime Is Abandoning The Children, Neglecting The Fountain Of Life. Many Of The Things We Need Can Wait. The Child Cannot. Right Now Is The Time His Bones Are Being Formed, His Blood Is Being Made, And His Senses Are Being Developed. To Him We Cannot Answer 'tomorrow.' His Name Is 'today.'