neruda sixty-four, altered

with life and love stained in violets crushed, 
i flew as a bird and blind, set in its way, 
arriving at your window, friend: 
you heard the heart being broken

when, rising from the dark to your breast,
into the field of tall wheat i unconsciously fell
and began my life in between your hands,
come joyously to you from the ocean's drowning.

no one may count out my debt to you, it's clear
what i owe you, love, and as an infant root 
to Araucanía, i owe to you, beloved.

my debt is as faithful as the stars,
as deep as the well in the wild, 
struck by lightning, kept in time.