Now we’re like planets, holding to each other from a great distance. [...] Now we’re hundreds of miles apart, our short arms keep us lonely, no one hears what’s in my head. [...] It’s March, even the...
Some stones are so heavy only silence helps you carry them!
Time is a blind guide.
Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love.
Like other ghosts, she whispers; not for me to join her, but so that, when I'm close enough, she can push me back into the world.
History is amoral: events occurred. But memory is moral; what we consciously remember is what our conscience remembers. History is the Totenbuch, The Book of the Dead, kept by the administrators of th...
Find a way to make beauty necessary; find a way to make necessity beautiful.
There was no energy of a narrative in my family, not even the fervour of an elegy.
The shadow-past is shaped by everything that never happened. Invisible, it melts the present like rain through karst. A biography of longing. It steers us like magnetism, a spirit torque. This is how...
That they were torn from mistakes they had no chance to fix; everything unfinished. All the sins of love without detail, detail without love. The regret of having spoken, of having run out of time to...
I'm naive enough to think that love is always good no matter how long ago, no matter the circumstances.
Because the moon feels loved, she lets our eyesfollow her across the field, steppingfrom her clothes, strewn silkglinting in furrows. Feeling loved, the moon lovesto be looked at, swimmingall night ac...
At night, a few lights marked port and starboard of these gargantuan industrial forms, and I filled them with loneliness. I listened to these dark shapes as if they were black spaces in music, a music...
Reading a poem in translation is like kissing a woman through a veil.
Like the moon, I want to touch placesjust by looking. To tellnew things at three in the morning, when we’re
I saved myself without thinking. I grasped the two syllables closest to me, and replaced my heartbeat with your name.
I do not believe home is where we’re born, or the place we grew up, not a birthright or an inheritance, not a name, or blood or country. It is not even the soft part that hurts when touched, that defi...
But sometimes the world disrobes, slips its dress off a shoulder, stops time for a beat. If we look up at that moment, it's not due to any ability of ours to pierce the darkness, it's the world's brie...
Write to save yourself,’ Athos said, ‘and someday you’ll write because you’ve been saved.
What is a man, said Athos, who has no landscape? Nothing but mirrors and tides.