From Neruda's book of poetry "Still Another Day" VI Pardon me, if when I want to tell the story of my life it's the land I talk about. This is the land. It grows in your blood and you grow. If it dies in your blood you die out. XV We the mortals, touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shore, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
Posted by Peter Adams at 09:35 PM. Filed under: Up for Grabs •
(0) Trackbacks • Permalink