Explore "Age covers us like drizzle" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Age covers us like drizzle; time is interminable and sad; a salt feather touches your face; a trickle ate through my shirt.
Time does not distinguish between my hands and a flock of oranges in yours: with snow and picks life chips away at your life, which is my life.
My life, which I gave you, fills with years like a swelling cluster of fruit.
The grapes will return to the earth.
And even down there time continues, waiting, raining on the dust, eager to erase even absence.