He always says to us:
Don’t blame the victim!
Who is the victim? We ask him
He answers: Blood that the night will never dry . .

Say anything at all to me, so that life will treat me tenderly

No one’s arrived. Leave me there like
you’d leave your greeting at the entrance of a house. To me or
to someone else, without concern for who’ll hear it
first. Leave me, there, a few words for myself:
Was I alone? “Solitary, like the soul in
a body,” when you said, once: I love you both,when I said I saw angels playing with the wolf
in the courtyard? I don’t remember
their names. And I don’t remember the way they
spoke . . . or the way they lightly flew