Poetry is the might
to individuate the most latent beautiful blooms...

The shrine of loneliness
the involuntary prison of choice...

To go on going somewhere,
and that’s...

All the languages belong to the same arbour
the two outlet bugles...

Ticktock-ticktock
thus said the mockingbird of a clock...

Be a hug for me
that my cries could calm in its cradle...

Truth is my home
Truth is flowers...

The dawns of towns are
empowered by the shadows...

She said that I was too sad, too damaged,
though I disagreed, ratiocinating...

Green makes
the world...

When I do not find your black eyes
everything founders...

There is no bridge
of us any more...