"It's the words that sing, they roar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop...Vowels I love...They glitter like colored stones, they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread, metal, dew...I run after certain words...They are so beautiful that I want to fit them all into my poem...I catch them in midflight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of them of the dish, they have a cristalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives...And then I stir them, I garnish them, I let them go...I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves...Everything exists in the world."
-Pablo Neruda
via this is water (an amazing blog concentrated on poetry and literary awesomeness)
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