It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.
When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes
are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen
7 comments:
Wow.
Ditto.
Beth
Lovely...thanks
This is lovely.
I sent you a note on facebook.
:)
Thank you for sharing the poem and pictures--beautiful.
Neruda always makes me smile and feel something nice inside.
Thanks for sharing this one... I hadn't read it before.
Ahhhhh. Fantastic! Better in Spanish though. Hot tub.
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