“in a river of flowerbeds the sun reaches my mouth
like an old buried tear that becomes seed again”
 - Born in the Woods, Pablo Neruda.

 Each day in February I have been posting pictures of snippets of poems by Pablo Neruda.

      (Your Laughter)

Month of Neruda has been a way to share the poet’s writings with a daily reminder of love through Path and Twitter.

    (I Ask For Silence.) 

 Your Hands:

When your hands go out,
love, toward mine,
what do they bring me flying?
Why did they stop
at my mouth, suddenly,
why do I recognize them
as if then, before,
I had touched them,
as if before they existed
they had passed over
my forehead, my waist?

Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea, over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that color of wheat.

All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up the stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.

  - From The Captain’s Verses

All referenced Neruda poems and pictures here are from “The Poetry of Pablo Neruda” Edited by Ilan Stavans, 2003.