Albert Roig Biography

— "The April dead, the narcissi,
and the light, now at its brightest, and the River that carries us away.
And it's the dark Heaven shining and it is all shadow of burning jewel
and with burning heart the bare Night, as a girl, white, jasmine.
...

Kiss me and allow a dead mouth
to rot on yours
and let the stinking flesh of my dusk
sing it to you the old bird
...

I

Now
the clear night you enter,
Night, you who burn in our hearts.
...

I

Dripping, placidness—
of wings,
skin,
...

This rain
of black fish, of eyes,

and the mud-bricks of the houses,
and the reedbed, you who speak to
...