And this next poem is a lyric poem.
It's called "The Ceaseless Turning" which
is from Pablo Neruda as well as the next part, "The Ceaseless
Turning Has Ended in Flowers."
Pablo Neruda.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love, this prosey tale
is dreaming.
This cup, my night, my crow, my love,
the return of the animal to the mineral.
This cup, my night, my crow, my love, zero over my zero.
Fossil etched were I not loved.
This cup, my night, my crow, my love,
spoken as this wheel as ache and prayed for once.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love,
you have it near at hands earth urn as what you but love.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love,
wilts you let it tilt global lest you did hear it moan.
Leafy let fall as one put turning.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love, leafy let fall dis't not,
joke not of ceaseless what it audible, it turning.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love, words in sutures
were once was put as once intoned.
Spike of want you spoke it singing.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love,
leafy let curve this ashen orchard mound.
Ghost garland grove and mourn it misting.
My cup, my night, my crow, my love,
desist less at heartache and in bloom he said it misting.