I am not Pablo Neruda
How brief and terrible was my desire.
You existed because of my thirst
confusing me, muy camino indeciso.
I might stop loving you, little by little,
but I am not Pablo Neruda
I cannot measure a little of infinity.
You are not mine, but part of me
is attached to the memory of you.
Your body and proportion my eyes see
but I know the frailty of belonging
to the people you meet, awareness of possibility
and small intimations of the heart.
Not in a corner will I place you so I might
keep you prisoner with my peasant sword,
you are the air and my sheltering sky.