It consumes everyone's laughter,
even the melodies of joyous music...

Not in the towns of the sun
where people chatter and constellate...

Can one emerge so bold
from a fragile cocoon...

I will no longer write aloud.
This will be my last suicide...

I leave for you my past
and the last paddle in the sea...

I fear
the shafts of dawn...

A grove of your name
had carpeted my way...

Your winter gust is a firestorm
that burns the chambers of my heart...

Burn my soul in silence;
watch me glint...

I write
to deaden the traffic...

Kill me in a poem you inspire,
let me write you in my pen...

She had a face of salt,
her features were fading away...