Notes for the First Line of a Spanish Poem

We remember so little, We are certain of nothing. We long to perish into the absolute. Where is a mountain To spread its snowfields for us like a shawl? You might begin, The men who come to see me are not exactly lovers. Or,Seen at a distance the gazelle is blue. That’s just your way of cheering me up. You might begin, The quality of the telegram is vulnerable. Or even,The spirit of the telegram is virginal. By now I am ravenous. You might begin, Nothing’s more passionate than a train, Entering an enormous depot, Empty except for two lovers, irreconcilable, Parting.