Tuesday, November 6

some wonderful things









 Georgia O’Keefe, Canyon With Crows
















Morning, XVI

I love the handful of the earth you are.
Because of its meadow, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.

Your wide eyes are the only light I know
from extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like the streak
of a meteor through rain.

Your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing you — compact and planetary,
my dove, my globe.

— Pablo Neruda










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