A confusion sounds, an uncertain clarity.
Another day begins.
It is a room, half-lit,
and two bodies stretched out.
In my head I am lost
on a plain with no one.
The hours sharpen their blades.
But at my side, you are breathing;
buried deep, and remote,
you flow without moving.
Unreachable as I think of you,
touching you with my eyes,
watching you with my hands.
Dreams divide
and blood unites us:
we are a river of pulsebeats.
Under your eyelids the seed
of the sun ripens.
The world
is still not real;
time wonders:
all that is certain
is the heat of your skin.
In your breath I hear
the tide of being,
the forgotten syllable of the Beginning.
Octavio Paz
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