By Pablo Neruda

After sunrise how many things

are needed to sustain this day?

Lethal lights, golden rays crossing the land,

centrifugal glowworms,

drops of moon, blisters, axiom,

all material superimposed

upon time’s passage: sadnesses, existences,

rights and responsibilities:

nothing is equal while the day eats away

at its clear light and grows

and then loses its power.

Hour after hour one spoonful

of acid falls from the sky,

as today falls from the day,

from the day of this day.

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