Chapter 8 evening

54 With absolute party masses, with integrity at noon O brilliant reason and bright devil, Here we are at last, alone, but not lonely, Far from the raving ravings of the savage city. Like a pure line traces a dove, As the fire honors peace with its nourishment, You and I also created this heavenly ending. Reason and love live together naked in this house. Frantic dreams, rivers of bitter inevitability, Decisions Outlast Hammer's Dream into lovers' cups for two, Till the double thing is balanced on On the balance: reason and love, like a pair of wings. The essence of transparency is thus forged.

58 In the iron-forged sword of literature, I wander about like a foreign sailor, Unfamiliar with those street corners, just singing, Because I sing, because why not? From the stormy isles I brought My windy accordion, mad rain waves, The usual soothing of all things in nature: They made my wild heart. Therefore when the sharp teeth of literature Suddenly bit my honest heel, I walked by without hesitation, singing to the wind, To the rainy shipyards of my childhood, To the cool woods of the vaguely defined South, To the place where my heart is filled with your fragrance. 60 Those who tried to hurt me hurt you,

And the secret poison that was supposed to be on me Like a net through my work Leave the rust and insomnia on your body. Lover, I don't want the hatred that hurts me Shade the moonlight that blooms on your brow. I don't want distant, forgotten laments Throw its useless crown of swords into your dreams. Vicious footsteps followed me, I laugh, and hideous grimaces imitate my countenance, I sang, jealously gnashing their teeth and cursing me. And that, O love, is the shadow that life throws at me: An empty suit, limp Chasing me like a scarecrow with a bloody smile. 64 My life is purple with such abundance of love,

I turned like a blindfolded bird, Till I reach your window, my friend: You hear the murmur of broken hearts. I fly out of the shadows and climb to your breast, Without being and knowingly, I fly up to the tower of wheat, rushing to life in your hands, Climb to your joy from the sea. No one can ever calculate my debt to you, love, My debt to you is clear and transparent, as if born from Root of Yarauko, O my debt to you, love. Everything I owe you is sure, like stars, My debt to you is like a well in the wasteland, Time is there to watch the wandering lightning. 65 Mathilde, where are you?I see, below,

Under my tie, above my heart, A pang of sorrow between the ribs, How quickly you disappeared. I need the radiance of your vitality; I look around, devouring hope. I stare at the emptiness without you, like a room, Nothing but windows of sorrow. The ceiling listens silently The ancient, leafless rain falls, Listen to the feathers, to all that the night imprisons: I waited for you like a lonely house, Wait until you are willing to see me again and live in my heart. While waiting, my window ached. 67 Heavy rain from the south falls on the Black Isle Like a single drop, clear and heavy,

The sea opens its cool leaves to receive, The earth learns how the goblet fulfills its wet destiny. O my soul, give me in your kisses Salt water these months, give me the honey of the field, Fragrance kissed by the thousand lips of the sky, The sacred patience of the winter sea. Something calls us, all doors Automatically open, the rain repeats rumors to the windows, The sky grows down till it touches the roots, So the days weave and tear down the webs of heaven, With time, salt, whispers, growth, paths, A woman, a man, and winter on Earth. 72 Beloved, winter is at camp, The earth packs its yellow gifts,

We caress the distant lands, One side touches the hair of the earth. leave!Now!Departures: wheels, boats, bells, Airplanes enhanced by endless sunlight— To the marriage scents of the archipelago, Happy elongated grains! Come on, stand up, pinch your hair back, take off, Come down, run with the air and sing with me: Let's take the train to Arabia or Tocobia— Just like the migration of distant pollen— To those ruled by barefoot poor kings Stinging villages of rags and gardenias. 75 There are houses, the sea, and flags. We wandered past other long fences. We can't find the gate and we can't find us

The sound of absence—as if dead. At last the house opens its silence, We enter, step over the waste, Dead rats, empty farewells, Weeping water in the pipe. Weep, the house - weep, day and night; It hides and whimpers with the spider, It falls apart from its dark eyes. Now, suddenly, we revive it. We dwell in it, it does not recognize us: It has to bloom, but has forgotten how to bloom. 77 Today is today, carrying all the weight of the past, And the wings that will be everything of tomorrow; Today is the south of the sea, the old age of water, A brand new day is constructed. The petals of a spent day gather in

On your mouth, lift it up to the light, to the moon, And yesterday hurried down the dark path, We thus remember your lost face. Today, yesterday, tomorrow passed, Like a burning calf consumed in a day, Our herds wait, the days are numbered, But time has dusted your heart with flour, My love built a furnace out of Temuco's mud: You are the daily bread of my soul. 78 I don't never, and I don't always.in the sand Victory leaves its vanishing footprints. I am poor, willing to love my own kind. I don't know who you are.I love you.I neither give nor sell thorns. Maybe someone will know that I don't weave bloody

Crown, know that I rebel against mocking teasing, And it did make my soul's orgasms swell. I return the ugly with doves. I don't never say, because I'm different—— It was in the past, it is now, and it will be in the future.I take The ever-changing name of love proclaims innocence. Death is but a forgotten stone. I love you and in your mouth I kiss joy. Let's gather firewood and build a fire on the mountain.