I read in a poem by Octavio Paz:
The word of man
is the laughter of death.
When I look again it says:
The word of man
is the daughter of death.
We talk because we are mortal:
words are not signs, they are years.
I close my eyes and smile.
Paz is the poet who wrote
I washed my hands in your breasts
and many other things
I think about the word of man:
daughter or laughter
one day I will know
which one I like best
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