by Pablo Neruda
I love
all things,
not because they are
passionate
or sweet-smelling
but because,
I don't know,
because this ocean is yours,
and mine:
and these buttons
and wheels
and little
forgotten
treasures, fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms,
glasses, knives and
scissors-
all bear
the trace
of someone's fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.
Exquisite. All of Us includes all the forgotten and invisible….ghosts from the past
So pure.