«I am here, at the end, and I still don't know what face I will give death.»
«What is done when dying? Does your face turn to the wall? Does it grab through the shoulders to the one who is close and hey? Does one run, like the one with the burning clothes, to reach the end?»
«In my aridity, here, I take the mark of his foot without return.»
«I am not one of those who squeeze their hearts in a violent place. I am one of those who attest to the beauty and death of the rose.»
«Senturous walled city, tight of miracles, rest in the enclosure of this body that begins where mine ends.»
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«Happy to be who I am, just a great look: eyes of pair and hands stripped.»
«Here I sighing like the one who loves and remembers and is far.»
«Little man, what do you want to do with your head? Buy the world, the madman, crazy and furious world? Castra the Potro God? But God breaks the brake and continues to engendered magnificent creatures, wild beings whose screams break this glass bell.»
«Under your touch I tremble like an arc in tension throbbing arrows and acute imminent whistles.»
«For love there is no sky, love, just this day.»
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«My blood is inflamed just like a hole sniffing the dam and ravage but under your voice my heart surrenders in devout and mired pigeons.»
«The one who leaves his memory, his way of being a river, of being air, of being goodbye and never.»
«They are not cloud or flower who falls in love; it is you, heart, sad or happy.»
«Sometimes, as light as a fish in the water, I move between happy and hallucinated things.»
«And we cannot escape living because life is one of its masks.»