It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem. - Wallace Stevens

For the poet, the imagination is paramount, and . . . he dwells apart in his imagination, as the philosopher dwells in his reason, and as the priest dwells in his belief … The imagination is the power of the mind over the possibilities of things."

Aún no habías nacido cuando los árboles eran cristal
ni has nacido ahora, en esta vigilia dentro de un sueño.

They married well because the marriage-place Was what they loved. It was neither heaven nor hell. They were love’s characters come face to face.