the still heart

May 23: spear-carrier

Some days you're the emperor; other days you're just the spear-carrier; but still other days you're merely the burnt marshmallow on the end of that spear. In other words: try to be grateful for what you've got.

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I remember you as you were last autumn.

You were the grey beret and the still heart.

In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.

And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant

the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.

Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.

Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.

I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:

grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house

towards which my deep longings migrated

and my kisses fell, happy as embers.

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:

Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!

Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.

Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.

[Pablo Neruda, 'I Remember You As You Were', from Twenty Poems and a Song of Despair]