The poem
O rose beyond the reach of time and of the senses O kiss enveloped in the scarves of all the winds surprise me with one dream that my madness will recoil from you Recoiling from you In order to approach you I discovered time Approaching you in order to recoil form you I discovered my senses Between approach and recoil there is a stone the size of a dream It does not approach It does not recoil You are my country A stone is not what I am therefor I do not like to face the sky not do I die level with the ground but I am a stranger, always a stranger