Ode to Salt by Pablo Neruda — Read

In the salt mines

I saw the salt in this shaker.

I know you won't believe me, but there it sings, the salt sings, the skin of the salt mines sings with a mouth choking on dirt.

Alone when I heard the voice of salt,

I trembled in the empty desert.

Near Antofagasta the whole salted plain shouts out in its cracked voice a pitiful song.

Then in its caverns jewels of rock salt, a mountain of light buried under earth, transparent cathedral, crystal of the sea, oblivion of the waves.

And now on each table of the world your agile essence, salt, spreading a vital luster on our food.

Preserver of the ancient stores in the holds of ships, you were the explorer of the seas, matter foretold in the secret, half-open trails of foam.

Dust of water, the tongue receives through you a kiss from the marine night: taste melds your oceanity into each rich morsel and thus the least wave of the saltshaker teaches us not merely domestic purity but also the essential flavor of the infinite.