For Octavio Paz

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

For Octavio Paz was originally published on Meandering home