Here, the sun bursts, the whole man is an island, something was lost. Children are witnesses to what strikes the appointed hour by lightning. Names have a song, a smell of almonds. The sky is blue and clear, dissolved solids boats and houses. The drinking water fountains. The body has plagued him all obstacles that prevent it from being: past, pain and even death.
[...]
The words here make you thirsty. And hungry. The body belongs. The island is his home. His openness to the world. His music. Love dancing in it. Here memories are made as a basket, woven of leaves, air and heat. Blue sky and clear, milky. Here there is no return. The word is a gasoline depressions in the skin - that of a country whose azure is a trap. As the companions of Odysseus, the poet wants to stay.
Preface pp. 3-4
[...]
The words here make you thirsty. And hungry. The body belongs. The island is his home. His openness to the world. His music. Love dancing in it. Here memories are made as a basket, woven of leaves, air and heat. Blue sky and clear, milky. Here there is no return. The word is a gasoline depressions in the skin - that of a country whose azure is a trap. As the companions of Odysseus, the poet wants to stay.
Preface pp. 3-4
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