Pero yo ya no soy yo Ni mi casa es ya mi casa. But now I am no longer I, nor is my house any longer my house. - Federico García Lorca

Life is not a dream. Watch out! Watch out! Watch out!
We fall down stairs and eat the moist earth,
or we climb up to the snow's edge with the choir of dead dahlias.
But there is no oblivion, no dream:
raw flesh. Kisses tie mouths
in a tangle of new veins
and those who are hurt will hurt without rest
and those who are frightened by death will carry it on their shoulders.

El más terrible de todos los sentimientos es el sentimiento de tener la esperanza muerta.

Small unhurt sorrows approach the hospitals
and every day the dead take off a suit of blood.
The architectures of frost,
the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leaves
in autumn, soaking the final slopes,
died out in the blackness of felt hats.