I ran out of time and then forgot to post a poem of my own today. So instead here is a great one from my current favorite, Pablo Neruda. . .
————
Ode to My Suit

Every morning you wait
on a chair, suit,
for my vanity, my love,
my hope, my body
to fill you.
I have hardly
emerged from sleep,
I leave the water,
I enter your sleeves,
my legs search for
the hollow of your legs,
and thus embraced
by your untiring loyalty
I go out to walk the pasture,
I enter poetry,
I look through the windows,
things,
men, women,
events amd struggles
keep shaping me,
keep confronting me,
making my hands work,
opening my eyes,
wearing out my mouth,
and thus,
suit,
I also keep shaping you,
pushing out your elbows,
tearing your threads,
and thus your life grows
in the image of my life.
You flap and rustle
in the wind
as if you were my soul,
at bad moments
you cling
to my bones,
empty, at night
darkness and dream
people with their phantoms
your wings and mine.
I ask
whether somday
a bullet
from the enemy
will stain you with my blood
and then
you will die with me
or perhaps
it may not be
so dramatic
but simple,
and you will gradually get sick,
suit,
with me,
you will grow old
with me, with my body,
and together
we will enter
the earth.
That’s why
every day
I greet you
with reverence and then
you embrace me and I forget you,
because we are one
and we will go on facing
the wind, at night,
the streets or the struggle,
one body,
perhaps, perhaps, motionless someday.

— Pablo Neruda

Filed under: life by Jonathan