Pablo Neruda: "Bird"

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