The Night in Isla Negra
A night and the unruly salt
beat at the walls of my house.
The shadow is all ohe sky
throbs now along with the o,
and sky and shadow erupt
in the crash of their vast flict.
All night long they struggle;
nobody knows the name
of the harsh light that keeps slowly opening
like a languid fruit.
So on the coast es to light,
out of seething shadow, the harsh dawn,
g by the moving salt,
swept by the mass of night,
bloodstained in its sea-washed crater.
Pablo Neruda
(ò﹏ò)
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