Verb by Pablo Neruda — Read

I'm going to wrinkle this word, twist it, yes, it's too smooth, as if the tongue of a big dog or a big river's water had washed it for years and years.

I want to see roughness in the word, ironlike salt, earth's toothless strength, the blood of those who spoke out and those who didn't.

I want to see thirst deep in its syllables.

I want to touch fire in the sound.

I want to feel the darkness of a scream.

I want rough words like virginal stones.