A Love Letter
This blog is the equivalent of a love note - tucked under a rock outside his ground floor bedroom for him to find when he sneaks out at night. He says he's in a dead land of shattered stone, alone. I know we're somewhere different this week... but I prefer this...
There where the waves shatter on the restless rocks
the clear light bursts and enacts its rose,
and the sea-circle shrinks to a cluster of buds,
to one drop of blue salt, falling.
O bright magnolia bursting in the foam,
magnetic transient whose death blooms
and vanishes--being, nothingness--forever:
broken salt, dazzling lurch of the sea.
You & I, Love, together we ratify the silence,
while the sea destroys its perpetual statues,
collapses its towers of wild speed and whiteness:
because in the weavings of those invisible fabrics,
galloping water, incessant sand,
we make the only permanent tenderness.
Pablo Neruda (1904 1973)
This blog is the equivalent of a love note - tucked under a rock outside his ground floor bedroom for him to find when he sneaks out at night. He says he's in a dead land of shattered stone, alone. I know we're somewhere different this week... but I prefer this...
There where the waves shatter on the restless rocks
the clear light bursts and enacts its rose,
and the sea-circle shrinks to a cluster of buds,
to one drop of blue salt, falling.
O bright magnolia bursting in the foam,
magnetic transient whose death blooms
and vanishes--being, nothingness--forever:
broken salt, dazzling lurch of the sea.
You & I, Love, together we ratify the silence,
while the sea destroys its perpetual statues,
collapses its towers of wild speed and whiteness:
because in the weavings of those invisible fabrics,
galloping water, incessant sand,
we make the only permanent tenderness.
Pablo Neruda (1904 1973)
smaptie:
I much more prefer your place that that other place with shattered stones and men with heads full of straw.