Your whole body has
a fullness or a gentleness destined for me.
When I move my hand up
I find in each place a dove
that was seeking me, as
if they had, love, made you of clay
for my own potter's hands.
Your knees, your breasts,
are missing parts of me like the hollow
of a thirsty earth
from which they broke off
we are complete like a single river,
like a single grain of sand.
Pablo Neruda's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Potter by Pablo Neruda )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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