If you are water do not expect to resemble rocks.
If you are rock, do not attempt to flow.
The soft tongue does not imitate the teeth.
Hard teeth do not imitate the tongue.
Between tongue and teeth there is food.
Between night and day, the dawn.
Neither the past nor the future is the now.
Between the rational and intuitive, opens the miracle.
Matter is beauty, the immaterial is truth.
When Eternity gives birth to petals of light in clocks,
Tongues pierced by birds made of air,
Hands that pour honey and cloud-scented songs,
In the subsoil of the mind there shall appear a sink
Through which your thieving memory will drain itself.

Translated by Tom Billsborough