It’s said that to be a poet you have to descend to hell once. And they have plenty of hell. Plenty of hell. One of them once said: “In prison you never sleep. You can never sleep in jail. You can never close your eyelids.” And so, like I’m doing now, I gave them a moment of silence. And then, I said, “This is what poetry is, guys. The prison universe is here, in your hands. Everything you say about how you never sleep, exudes fear, all of the unwritten. All that is poetry.” So we started appropriating that hell. And we plunged ourselves into the seventh circle. In that seventh circle of hell, our own and so beloved circle, they learned that walls could be invisible, windows could yell and that we could hide inside the shadows.