By Pablo Neruda
When I decided to clarify my life
and, hand by hand, to seek out misfortune
by throwing the dice,
I met the woman who accompanies me
everywhere and at all hours,
in clouds and in silence.
Matilde is the one
who answers to this name
from Chillan
and even if it rains
or thunders or rises,
the day with blue hair
or the slender night,
she is the one,
who goes and goes,
ready for my body,
for the space of my body,
opening all the windows to the sea
so that the written word flies off,
so that the furniture fills
with silent signals,
with green fire.
