TO LIVE I feel that my life flows like a slow river, that it has neither beginning nor end, as if ever I were born nor could exist

THRESHOLD At which erogenous zone of this language, nomad, tattoos the star of absence? The poem, a shelter without roots, opens to the obscure appeal of the roads.

HARVEST Your voice sounded enchanting on the phone that warm day in August, and I dreamed of grapevines and ripened grapes full of sugar and drunkenness. And I

TSUNAMI The sea rose, broke down the door And came straight at you at your face Dragged underwater, you surrender Struggle immediately ceases And you drift along, with

WHAT ELSE SEARCHES THE WORD FOR . . . What else, searches the word for in the sediment of the verse if not for the impalpable —which exists

POEM OF THE MOON Like your face in a dark room So exhausted and strange Hangs the Moon in the black sky. I saw her bright and white

PSALM 1 Blessed is the man who does not follow the slogans of the party, neither attends its meetings nor sits at the table with the gangsters nor

  A NEW DAY I nestle my face against the cold pane of day. My breath warms up nothing but the tip of a Happy Island. A tear