All that the body can love
is made of touches and vibrations.
All that can be the object of our desire
is a breaking murmur against the walls.
Light pierces them, and nothing in life
knows emptiness or stillness. Nothing denies us,
everything affirms to us the constant breathing,
and every exhalation is an unspoken word,
and every word is a hiatus in search of a void.
All that we can say is an ancient dance
stirring up the earth.
The walls crack or warp,
but between their arches there are always densities
capable of refracting every ray.

Ramiro López-Canetti, Anthology of the Discarded, p. 12