music of the soul

It is Voltaire who said that poetry is the music of the soul, and, above all, of great and feeling souls. I can not say much about the greatness of my soul as opposed to any other, but I can certainly say that I feel deeply and that words move me in a way that little else does. In fact, words are without a doubt the way to my heart.

The first time I ever read a poem of Pablo Neruda, I fell hopelessly in love with him. (I still am.) These are the words that sang to me:

you know how this is
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals, were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

From If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda

Sad as it may be, I doubt that Pablo's little boats were ever headed my way. But I do wonder if there is someone else out there who could even contemplate such a thing... who would want to be carried my way on the little boats of the everything and the all... Someone who knows how long I have been waiting.