Alliance (Sonata) by Pablo Neruda — Read

Of dusty glances fallen to the ground or of soundless leaves burying themselves.

Of metals without light, with the emptiness, with the absence of the suddenly dead day.

At the tip of the hands the dazzlement of butterflies, the upflight of butterflies whose light has no end.

You kept the trail of light, of broken beings that the abandoned sun, sinking, casts at the churches.

Stained with glances, dealing with bees, your substance fleeing from unexpected flame precedes and follows the day and its family of gold.

The spying days cross in secret but they fall within your voice of light.

Oh mistress of love, in your rest

I established my dream, my silent attitude.

With your body of timid number, suddenly extended to the quantities that define the earth, behind the struggle of the days white with space and cold with slow deaths and withered stimuli,

I feel your lap burn and your kisses travel shaping fresh swallows in my sleep.

At times the destiny of your tears ascends like age to my forehead, there the waves are crashing, smashing themselves to death: their movement is moist, drifting, ultimate.