Matilde, years or days
here or there,
twisting my spine,
bleeding true blood,
perhaps I awaken
or am lost, sleeping:
hospital beds, foreign windows,
white uniforms of the silent walkers,
the clumsiness of feet.
And then, these journeys
and my sea of renewal:
your head on the pillow,
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,
over my earth.
It was beautiful to live
when you lived!
The world is bluer and of the earth
at night, when I sleep
enormous, within your small hands
Pablo Neruda's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Finale by Pablo Neruda )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
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