Water – Pablo Neruda

Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble 

pricked and the green thread 

nibbled away, the petal fell, falling 

until the only flower was the falling itself. 

Water is another matter, 

has no direction but its own bright grace, 

runs through all imaginable colors, 

takes limpid lessons 

from stone, 

and in those functionings plays out 

the unrealized ambitions of the foam.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.