I have gone—marking the atlas of your body
With crosses of fire
My mouth went across—a spider, trying to hide
Stories to tell you in the shore of evening, sad and gentle doll
So that you should not be sad
Between the lips and the voice
Something goes dying
The way nets cannot hold water
“My doll, even so, something sings in these fugitive words.
Something sings.
Oh, to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy.
My sad tenderness—what comes over you all at once?”
My heart closes like a flower at night
The solitude, crossed with a dream and with silence …
Alone …
The black cross of a ship …
Sometimes I get up early
And even my soul is wet
I have gone—marking the atlas of your body With crosses of fire My mouth went across—a spider, trying to hide Stories to tell you in the shore of evening, sad and gentle doll So that you should not be sad
Between the lips and the voice Something goes dying The way nets cannot hold water “My doll, even so, something sings in these fugitive words. Something sings. Oh, to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy. My sad tenderness—what comes over you all at once?”
My heart closes like a flower at night The solitude, crossed with a dream and with silence … Alone … The black cross of a ship … Sometimes I get up early And even my soul is wet
Neruda [paraphrased]