10 / ten

you will remember that leaping stream
where sweet aromas rose and trembled,
and sometimes a bird, wearing water
and slowness, its winter feathers.

you will remember those gifts from the earth:
indelible scents, gold clay,
weeds in the thicket and crazy roots,
magical thorns like swords.

you'll remember the bouquet you picked,
shadows and silent water,
bouquet like a foam-covered stone.

that time was like never, and like always.
so we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there.

~ pablo neruda

 

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