You ask me what the lobster is weaving down there,
with its golden feet,
I tell you, the ocean knows this.
You say who is the acedia waiting for
in its transparent bell.
I tell you its waiting for time, like you.
You say who does the macrocystis algae hug in its
arms? Study it.
Study it at a certain hour in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhale,
and I respond by describing to you how the sea unicorn,
with a harpoon in it, dies.
You inquire about the kingfisher's feathers
which tremble in the purest springs of the southern shores.
I want to tell you that the
ocean knows this,
That life, in its jewel boxes, as endless as the sand,
impossible to count, pure
And the
time among the blood colored grapes
has made the petal hard and shiny,
filled the jellyfish with light, untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall,
from a horn of plenty made of
infinite mother of pearl.
I'm nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead of human eyes,
dead in the darkness', of fingers accustomed to the triangle,
longitudes in the timid globe of an orange.
I walked around like you
investigating the endless star,
And in my net during the night I woke up naked.
The only thing caught, a fish,
trapped inside the wind.
- 'The Enigmas'
by Pablo Neruda