Bee white buzzes – drunk with honey – in my soul
and you twist in slow spirals of smoke.
I am the desperate, the word without echoes,
the one who lost everything, and the one who had everything.
Last bind, cries in you my last anxiety.
In my desert land you are the last rose.
Close your deep eyes. There the night flies.
Ah, undress your body of a fearful statue.
You have deep eyes where night alloy.
Fresh flower arms and pink lap.
Your breasts look like white snails.
A butterfly of shadow has come to sleep in your belly.
Here the solitude of where you are absent.
Rains. The sea wind hunts wandering gulls.
The water goes barefoot through the wet streets.
From that tree the leaves complain as sick.
White bee, absent, you still buzz in my soul.
You live in time, thin and silent.
More Neruda poems and a timeline may be found at https://www.poemas-del-alma.com/