All the light of the Caucasus falls on your body
as though into a little vase of glass, infinite,
where the water transforms itself, by dressing, by singing
at every transparent move of the river.
XVIII From: ‘Cien sonetos de amor’
- Pablo Neruda
I dream of it
like an arrow of wild fragrance
drowning the autumn air
with stains of spring's first awakening
pushing, forming
it arrives not as raindrops slowly
trickling but sudden piercing flash
of thunderstorm
pouring like honey
all the light of the Caucasus falls on your body
dusty golden, you are dawn
unpetaled, blazing
rising above mountains, weaving the earth
with new watercolors
I dream of it
like symphony's
unbroken melody
recochetting between our bones
intimate as thinnest filament
as though into a little vase of glass, infinite,
love, with its immeasurable weight of sea,
is sailing through all the continents
seeking you
seeking me and all my words
fragmented as lost diamonds
I wait between harvests, spinning
music on this wet earth
I dream of it
like silkworm cocoons, of beginnings
where the water transforms itself, by dressing, by singing
through every season
flamboyant and effervescent
on my lips, cinnamon wine
on my skin, burning kisses
I dream of this
under the night sky as it shimmers
electric purple
ringed pregnant with silence
your every memory stabs the darkness deep that I shiver
at every transparent move of the river.
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