Morning echoes
Through your body of earth
Carrying the scent of rain

To soar above
The shadows of eucalyptus trees
And touch the sky with my toes

To read you, to love you, to make you my art,
In engravings of representation and in poems.
And to pretend that all your kisses and embraces are figs—
Verses stretched out in rows like entwined fig trees, and the kisses within the poems.
Ah, they are summer afternoons.

Ulysses, I walk upon incandescent waters.
I change the course of the melancholic sun.
And the music has many heads, and the wine many *******.
And this is the terrible mathematics, material for dreams.

in my portraits how beautiful my father, my grandfather and my uncle were. how perfect the light was on my mother and grandmother's shoulders. how small our hands were when they intersected each other like wild bodies.