Explore "You should comb over the shore" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
You should comb over the shore of Lake Tragosoldo in Antiñana early, when the dew's still trembling on the hard cinnamon leaves, and gather up the damp stones, lakeside grapes of jasper, of blazing cobblestone, little purple pebbles or rock honeycombs bored out by volcanoes or bad weather, by the wind's snout.
Yes, the oblong chrysolite or the Ethiopian basalt or the massive map of the granite waits for you there, but no one comes but the anonymous fisherman sunk in his quivering trade.
Only I keep, sometimes in the morning, this appointment with slippery stones, soaked, crystalline, ashen, and with hands full of burnt-out fires, of secret structures, of clear almonds
I go back to my family, to my obligations, more ignorant than the day I was born, more simple each day, each stone.