Saturday, April 30, 2011

Erasure of Neruda's Epithalamium


At first I did not see you: I did not know
  your           presence:
  
the shouts of the wind in the shadow.


Do you remember

how sleep grew
in you,

      how  
               the wind
  
echoed  

      its secret syllable
  
and all things spoke 

of the seed that half opens?


Your name is on the petals

of the rose that grows on the stone,


       a scarlet mouth  

deciphers your name:
  
    broken window

crazy with light.