“You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.”
― Pablo Neruda”—(via hollyhocksandtulips)
