22 August 2009


We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset
in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin
in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater
rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.


// clenched soul, by the painfully-beautiful pablo neruda