--de donde crece la palma We are high in the mountains, my poet and I.

He insists on making a verse by drawing together the universe produced as the clouds gave wings to the sea and each half of a feather horizon which flowers into two halves of the palm whose perfumes were misted with monuments that rose up from the center between walls the ruins of Benjamin Franklins home or frothed into foam when carved in marble better than nature itself would have done which brings this letter to its purpose, now, Come, my horse leave the shadow of the tree take me to where Ive been summoned, my steed