winter arrives. shining dictation
the wet leaves give me,
dressed in silence and yellow.

i am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
i belong to the earth and its winter.
earth's rumor grew in the leaves,
soon the wheat flared up
punctuated by red flowers like burns,
then autumn arrived to set down
the wine's scripture:
everything passed, the goblet of summer
was a fleeting sky,
the navigating cloud burned out.
i stood on the balcony dark with mourning,
like yesterday with the ivies of my childhood,
hoping the earth would spread its wings
in my uninhabited love.

i knew the rose would fall
and the pit of the passing peach
would sleep and germinate once more,
and i got drunk on the air
until the whole sea became the night
and the red sky turned to ash.
now the earth lives
numbing its oldest questions,
the skin of its silence stretched out.
once more i am the silent one
who came out of the distance
wrapped in cold rain and bells:
i owe to earth's pure death
the will to sprout.

- pablo neruda -

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