Monday, January 26, 2009

Poem for Monday, January 26, 2009

It is Born

by Pablo Neruda

Here I came to the edge
where nothing at all needs saying,
everything is absorbed through weather and the sea,
and the moon swam back,
its rays all silvered,
and time and again the darkness would be broken
by the crash of a wave,
and every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born,
and everything is blue again like morning.

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