"I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."
Oh winter (quite like a mouse when one addresses her),
I am ready for you.
A flacon of my tears stands on your night table, and from time to time you pour several drops onto your body, letting them escape across your contours, slowly, leaving salty residue in their wake.
Joan Miro
