Aymara's Music Poscast

Heights of Macchu Picchu: I Pablo Neruda From air to air, like an empty net, I went wandering between the streets and the atmosphere, arriving and saying goodbye leaving behind in autumn's advent the coin extended from the leaves, and between Spring and the wheat, that which the greatest love, as within a falling glove, hands over to us like a large moon. (Days of live brilliance in the storminess of bodies: steel transformed into the silence of acid: nights unraveled to the last flour: assualted stamens of the nuptial native land.) Someone waiting for me among the violins found a world like a sunken tower digging its spiral deeper than all the leaves the color of hoarse sulfur: and deeper still, into geologic gold, like a sword sheathed in meteors, I pulnged my turbulent and tender hand into the most genital terrestrial territory. I leaned my head into the deepest waves, I sank through the sulfuric peace, and, like a blind man, returned to the jasmine of the exhausted human springtime.