hen I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.
Copper ignots
slide dos
to tocopilla.
Nigime.
Among the islands
our ocean
th fish,
touc, thighs,
the chalk ribs
of my country.
t
clings to its shores, by dawn
it wakes up singing
as if it ed a guitar.
the oceans surge is calling.
the wind
calls me
and Rodriguez calls,
and Jose Antonio--
I got a telegram
from t;Minequot; Union
and the one I love
( out)
expects me in Bucalemu.
No book has been able
to wrap me in paper,
to fill me up
ypography,
s
or was ever able
to bind my eyes,
I come out of books to people orchards
he hoarse family of my song,
to als
or to eat smoked beef
by mountain firesides.
I love adventurous
books,
books of forest or snow,
depth or sky
but e
the spider book
in w
has laid poisonous wires
to trap the juvenile
and circling fly.
Book, let me go.
I go clothed
in volumes,
I dont come out
of collected works,
my poems
eaten poems--
they devour
exciting happenings,
feed on rougher,
and dig their food
out of earth and men.
Im on my way
in my shoes
free of mythology:
send books back to their shelves,
Im going doo treets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teaching
except t I have lived
hing in common among men,
hem,
wheir say in my song.