Falling stars like speckled gold,
Juniper fields, memories of old,
The bees have gone, or so I've been told
Would you have known?
Where you were, the path grows cold
Not one you've wrote, those empty notes,
Hardly a modern myth,
To me, this dream you sold

when the waves of the sea sang of summer,
wan midnights and flowers beguiled

by a love strong and tender in slumber,
awakening tumultuous and wild;

oh, love, sweetest love, won’t you listen
to the song that the fierce sea sang,

while the desolate waves seemed to glisten
and silver bells rang.


oh, my love, oh, my love, hear the fire
of the love that has blossomed for you,

a song full of want and desire,
and all of its dreams about you,

the wind fires up through the mountains,
the clouds fill the desolate sky,

the waters of earth fill the fountains
and all the seas sigh.


and i never felt love for another
as strong or as passionate as for you,

and my legs longed for yours like a lover,
and forever they’d stay ever true,

up high in the night sky the birds fly
and plunder the sorceress moon,

and love in her waves gives a sweet sigh
and falls in a swoon.


the solitary sea starts to whisper,
with a love that n’er knows of a god,

and the mist on the sea-wall grows crisper
as it dampens the ghosts of the sod,

and love cries out loudly at sunrise
toes dipped in the trembling dew,

forgetting the murmurs of moonrise
besotted and blue.


the wind now no longer seeks shelter,
curves the clouds who now run and then run,

sings of tides full of moonlight who welter
with tears (though no gift of the sun,)

and these tears for my love i now carry
stripped away like the sun and the rain,

our love both soulful and arbitrary,
flowing true in the vein.


the flowers of midnight are calling
like lilies with petals outspread,

on an ocean that dreams as it’s falling,
and falls like an anchor of lead,

the streams lift up high as if dreaming,
the wings of the wind’s edges bleed,

and all of their wonderful streaming
begins to recede.


the sun sung out once to the morning,
unshackled the wings of the seas

who flew as the light started dawning,
as the sea water started to unfreeze,

day more of the morning soon conjured
of magics both dreadful and free

of tenderness’s sweetly outnumbered
like your love for me.


the brightening bird grows to an ocean,
its brilliant wings full of day,

and our hearts sing out loud with emotion,
the clouds float along in their greys,

the light in the sky starts to shiver,
no longer of evening and night,

sings songs of the moon’s lonely river
her lamps set alight.

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.

I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:
Grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house
Towards which my deep longings migrated
And my kisses fell, happy as embers.

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.

by Pablo Neruda

I can't leave aside the latitude of your eye
where roads and memories reside
my dreams
more than my shadow crash into you
my lips conjure your scent
my insinuated hand  does not hold
does not hold anything tangible
words are wounds, the meanings flow
angles intersect and lines converge
to the proof or woof of your existence
in this poem the words laugh
at the fragile calculus of tears
as if they would celebrate the question mark
in an unfinished sentence
I wonder where your touch begin, how far
the eye can stretch into the camera obscura of flesh