If a seperate personal Paradise exists for each of us mine must irreparably be planted with trees of words which the wind silvers like poplars, by people who see their confiscated justice given back, and by birds that even in the midst of the truth of death insist on singing in Greek and saying, eros, eros, eros.
Source:
Eros, Eros, Eros: Selected & Last Poems
Pages:
cover
Contributed by:
Tsuya