Poetry And it was at that age... Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't Kow, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silece, but from a street i was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there i was without a face And it touched me. i d..