Friday, October 16, 2009

Dear Pablo Neruda, no. 201






I wander when I leave you, Pablo
I walk among stars that blink at each other
as if they are telling secrets
about my fate, as if they know
what is next, quivering there
in the shimmering dark

They murmur over me reassuringly
Sometimes I need them so that
I can find my way north
so I can find the path home
As I pick my way between love and poems
in the blue-black diamond field

There! Like a splash in the water flies the comet
with a tail like Isadora’s scarf
From each side, it appears solid, heavy
In reality, it is airy and light as
an inflamed accessory in the sky
or an inflated starlet in chandelier earrings

I walk crookedly; I’ve had too much to drink
I approach temple steps to ruins I’ve read about
I stumble, distracted by the constellations
calculating the age of the stars—
the influential lamps that have always
drawn me here away from the pin point

Hand over brow, as if looking into the sun
I remember that the sun is a star
our closest star, but a minor light
Standing firm on waving stacks of sand
I reach out with my beating heart to
the pulsing fields of the sky above


© 2007 Viola Weinberg

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