Day 38 of 365 (And Some Mornings it isn't Faith but Rather a Poet's Voice that Centers me.)

So that you will hear me 

So that you will hear me my words sometimes grow thin as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches. 

Necklace, drunken bell for your hands smooth as grapes. 

And I watch my words from a long way off. 

They are more yours than mine. 

They climb on my old suffering like ivy. 

It climbs the same way on damp walls. You are to blame for this cruel sport. They are fleeing from my dark lair. 

You fill everything, you fill everything. Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,

 and they are more used to my sadness than you are. 

Now I want them to say what I want to say to you to make you hear as I want you to hear me. The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual. 

Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over. 

You listen to other voices in my painful voice. Lament of old mouths, 

blood of old supplications. 

Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. 

Follow me. 

Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish. 

But my words become stained with your love. You occupy everything, 

you occupy everything. 

I am making them into an endless necklace for your white hands, 

smooth as grapes. 

Pablo Neruda