It was at that age …
poetry arrived in search of me.
I didn't know, I didn't know where he came from,
from winter or a river?
I didn't know how or when,
He was not from voices, not from words
nor was he from - silence;
but from a street I was familiar,
from the branches of night.
He came without a face,
and he touched me...
I wrote the first line,
A line without pretense - pure.
I did not know what to say,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
---
I had no way with his name.
/ Pablo Neruda /
Lisbon night. Jan, 2013