There is no space wider than that of grief..

In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in bl….

In you is the illusion of each day. You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. You undermine the horizon with your absence. Eternally in flight l….

Like them you are tall and taciturn, and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage..

The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker..

If you no longer live, if you my beloved, my love, if you have died, all the leaves will fall in my breast, it will rain in my soul night and day, th….

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the mo….

Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?.

But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips ….

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window..

Who do I belong to? How come I mortgaged my being till I don't belong to myself? How come I sold my blood? And who now owns my indecisions, my hands,….

Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies def….

Latin America is very fond of the word "hope." We like to be called the "continent of hope." Candidates for deputy, senator, president, call themselv….

I like on the table, when we're speaking, the light of a bottle of intelligent wine..

And I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the….

Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter..

Your house sounds like a train at midday, the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing, the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew . . ..

Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when..

In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins..

The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its ….

I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in com….