"The cities dissolve, and the earth is a cart loaded with dust Only poetry knows how to pair itself to this space."

(...)

Murder has changed the city’s shape—this stone
                                                                 is a child’s head—
and this smoke is exhaled from human lungs.
Each thing recites its exile . . .                a sea
                                              of blood—and what
do you expect on these mornings except their arteries set to sail
into the darkness, into the tidal wave of slaughter?

parte de Desert, de Adonis.