Young Neruda, at nineteen, understood
your geography, how your form contains
earth’s all from hills to riverbeds. He could
dig and forge and love, survive endless pain,
sense flesh of moss, aroma of roses.
Could he, I wonder, wonder at your smile
even before we were born? I could. Yes,
and I could sail your blue-sea eyes for miles.
So when I first glimpsed your face here on earth
I understood our geography, how
our form conforms and reforms, as if birth
occurs each time we meet, each time I bow
to honor your land mass, your ocean, your
brief sunrise, where just your glance brings pleasure.
Roger Armbrust
January 22,
2013
