by Pablo Neruda
By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in their sleep will defeat the darkness
like a double drum in the forest, pounding
against the thick wall of wet leaves.
Night travel: black flame of sleep
that cuts the threads of earthly orbs,
punctual as a headlong train that pulls
cold stone and shadow, endlessly.
Because of this, Love, tie me to a purer motion,
to the constancy that beats in your chest
with the wings of a submerged swan,
So that our sleep might reply to the sky’s
questioning stars with a single key,
with a single door the shadows had closed.
Embrace, Egon Schiele, 1917