OCTAVIO PAZ ~ THE LOVE IN LOVE

At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death;

the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens;

the laughter that sets on fire the rules and the holy commandments;

the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page;

the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses,

for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the day-sorrow desert;

the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dissipation of the self;

the beheading of epithets, the burial of mirrors;

the recollection of pronouns freshly cut in the

garden of Epicurus, and the garden of Netzahualcoyotl;

the flute solo on the terrace of memory and the dance of flames in the cave of thought;

the migrations of millions of verbs, wings and claws, seeds and hands;

the nouns, bony and full of roots, planted on the waves of language;

the love unseen and the love unheard and the love unsaid: the love in love.”

― Octavio Paz