How can we write about love, we who have lost our limbs in small wars! We who have let ghosts frolic in our dark rooms and made sleep a rendezvous with the companions of absence. How can we move towards love with our little feet, we who have long frozen behind windows, seized by knocks on an old door. How can we serenely taste the honey of all these poets! We, children of a bitter language, furrowed with scars buried until the end of death. Published: June 2, 2025 Order Press release