XX
I can write the saddest things tonight.
For
example: ‘The night has been smashed
and
the stars left to shiver, far away, in the blue.’
The wind turns around in the night to confess.
I
can write the saddest things tonight.
I
wanted her, and sometimes she wanted me.
On
nights like this I held her in my arms.
The
times I kissed her under a certain sky .
She
wanted me, and sometimes I wanted her too.
Her
eyes, fastening me. How to do anything but love her.
So
words catch on my heart. Dew gathers on grass.
What
it means that my love couldn’t keep her.
The
night is starry and she’s not with me.
That’s it. Someone
far away is singing. Away.
I
am restless in her distance. My eyes cast the line to draw her in
and
though my heart reaches for her, she’s not here.
The
same night; the same trees whitened.
Who
we were, then—we’re no longer the same.
I
don’t want her any more, of course. But how much I wanted her.
My
words, ransacking everything, even the wind, just to be heard by her.
Another.
There will be another. Just as before.
Her
voice. Her body, alight. Her endless eyes.
I
know I don’t want her now, but sometimes I do.
It’s
so short, this thing love, and forgetting is so long.
It’s
nights like this that I had her in my arms
that
her
absence seems to wrest my spirit from me.
And even though
this is the last loss she takes from me
though
this, this is the last thing, I write her.
Posted 12/12/13
A translation of "Poema 20" from Neruda's "Veinte poemas de amor y una cancion desesperada." The original is widely available and immediately recommended.