One time more, my love, the net of light extinguishes <br />work, wheels, flames, boredoms and farewells, <br />and we surrender the swaying wheat to night, <br />the wheat that noon stole from earth and light. <br />The moon alone in the midst of its clear page <br />sustains the pillars of Heaven’s Bay, <br />the room acquires the slowness of gold, <br />and your hands go here and there preparing night. <br />O love, O night. O cupola ringed by a river <br />of impenetrable water in the shadows of Heaven, <br />that raises and drowns its tempestuous orbs, <br />until we are only the one dark space <br />a glass into which fall celestial ashes, <br />one drop in the flow of a vast slow river<br /><br />Pablo Neruda<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lxxxiv-from-cien-sonetos-de-amor/
