Poetry

something started in my soul,

fever or forgotten wings,

and I made my own way,

deciphering

that fire

and wrote the first faint line,

faint without substance, pure

nonsense,

pure wisdom,

of someone who knows nothing,

and suddenly I saw

the heavens

unfastened

and open.

From “Poetry” by Pablo Neruda, 1964. Translation by Alistair Reid.