The Thorn in the Wind There, where the leaven of the clay was turned into pottery, apple: someone sleeps; and someone goes to pick him up; someone takes him away sleeping, and someone never comes back. There, where the flower conspired with the night, each corpse encloses itself in its boundaries, with its constellation under the solstice cup of the obscure empire of homeless sense.    Castellano Français      No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in case of photocopyng or other reprographic copying, a licence from Canadian Reprography Collective (Cancopy), 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900 Toronto, ON M5E 1E5 Canadá. Ph 800-893-5777 / (416)868-1620 /Fax:(416) 868-1621. -- U.S. requests should be sent to Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. 222 Rosewood Drive Danvers, MA 01923 USA. Ph. 978-750-8400 / Fax 978-750-4470