The world exists to end up in a book.
The world was made in order to result in a beautiful book.
In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation.
It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.
To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.
The pure work implies the disappearance of the poet as speaker, who hands over to the words.