Leaning Into The Afternoon

linking to Scenic Weekends

Tus Manos

When your hands leap towards mine, love,
what do they bring me in flight?
Why did they stop at my lips, so suddenly,
why do I know them,
as if once before, I have touched them,
as if, they once passed my forehead, my waist?
Their tenderness came winging through time,
over the sea and the smoke,
over the Spring,
and when you laid your hands on my chest
I knew those wings of the gold doves,
I knew that clay, and that color of grain.

These years of my life
I have been on searching,
 climbing of stairs,
 crossing of reefs.
Trains hurled me onwards
waters carried me, 
on the surface of grapes
it seemed that I touched you. 

The wood, suddenly, made contact with you,
the almond tree announced your hidden tenderness
until both your hands 
landed on my chest,
like a pair of wings
ending their flight.

~ Pablo Neruda ~

Creative Challenge ~ Thingamajig ~ Whose Name Is Unknown

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