words by Pablo Neruda
Here are the bread-the wine-the table-the house:
a man’s needs, and a woman’s, and a life’s.
Peace whirled through and settled in this place:
the common fire burned, to make this light.
Hail to your two hands, which fly and make
their white creations, the singing and the food:
salve! the wholesomeness of your busy feet;
viva! the ballerina who dances with the broom.
Those rugged rivers of water and of threat,
torturous pavilions of the foam,
incendiary hives and reefs: today
they are this respite, your blood in mine,
this path, starry and blue as the night,
this never-ending simple tenderness.