Monday, July 5, 2010

Life is a Trip

I love this poem by Neruda
When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

Friday September 4, 2009 952pm Ballard, WA
Diego is almost asleep, my throat hurts and I'm sneezing. I just hung up on Mer, Cesar just hung up on me and the house is finally quiet minus my typing and the sounds of the electrical machines running.

No comments:

Post a Comment