For You, Dear Slow Plot-Driven Reader*

Scones, made by my partner David

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

--Pablo Neruda

read at our wedding celebration


*  "Slow Plot-Driven Reader" is a frequent commentator on this blog--and someone who has put up with my book obsession for nearly twenty years in real life (even through several household moves and all that entails for bibliophiles).  I can think of no other reader with whom I'd rather spend time reading and talking about books.