From 'To bring together the continents'

The poem is a crazy horse. It tramples through barriers, jumps over the stateless horizon, the path compelled to exist in the traveller’s wide eyes. I walk and I walk in my gaze where mornings are born and reborn.
A poetry of witness speaks the words in which dreams sleep, vagabond words, words like sun, bread, star, bird, garden. The Game: to be on the same footing as the world’s tenderness. […]