Bird

It was passed from one bird to another
The hole gift of the day
The day went from flute to flute
Went dressed in vegetation
In flights with open the tunnel
Through the wind would pass
To where birds were breaking open
The dense blue air
And there, night came in

When i returned from so many journeys
Ii stayed suspended and green
Between sun and geography
I saw how wings worked
How perfumes are transmitted
By feathery telegraph
And from above, I saw the path
The springs and the roof tiles
The fishermen at their trades
The trousers of the foam
I saw it all from my green sky
I had no more alphabet
Than the swallows in their courses
The tiny shining water
Of the small bird on fire
Which dances out of the pollen

Pablo Neruda