Death Laid Its Eggs In

Everything's A Fan. Brother, Open Up Your Arms. God Is The Pivot.

In The Garden I Will Die. In The Rosebush They Will Kill Me.

The Duende....where Is The Duende? Through The Empty Archway A Wind Of The Spirit Enters, Blowing Insistently Over The Heads Of The Dead, In Search Of New Landscapes And Unknown Accents: A Wind With The Odour Of A Child's Saliva, Crushed Grass, And Medusa's Veil, Announcing The Endless Baptism Of Freshly Created Things.

Moon Like A Large Stainedglass Window That Breaks On The Ocean.

If Blue Is Dream What Then Innocence? What Awaits The Heart If Love Bears No Arrows?