Salives

«And now I publish my first book of poems. This means that in decades of writing I have ended up taking for good thirty-two poems, among hundreds of others destroyed without regret. I do not know if considering having written thirty-two poems that deserve to be published may seem presumptuous or not. These poems that have survived the destruction have lead me to evoke desire and the opposite of desire, and here lies, perhaps, my excuse. With them, then, I have tried to speak of the birth of desire, its decrepitude, its absence or its empire. And I have found it useful to present them in an almost objective order for me: from mud to light, from coldness in summer, from disaster to palpitation of happiness. These poems are what floats and that, with a mixture of gratitude, fear and perplexity, I let go.»