El Alfarero

Todo tu cuerpo tiene
copa o dulzura destinada a mí.

Cuando subo la mano
encuentro en cada sitio una paloma
que me buscaba, como
si te hubieran, amor, hecho de arcilla
para mis propias manos de alfarero.

Tus rodillas, tus senos
tu cintura
faltan en mí como en el hueco
de una tierra sedienta
de la que desprendieron
una forma,
y juntos
somos completos como un solo río,
como una sola arena.

The Potter

Your whole body holds
a goblet or gentle sweetness destined for
me.

When I let my hand climb,
in each place I find a dove
that was looking for me, as if
my love, they had made you out of clay
for my very own potter’s hands.

Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing in me, like in the hollow
of a thirsting earth
where they relinquished
a form,
and together
we are complete like one single river,
like one single grain of sand.

—Translated and © Mark Eisner 2004, from City Lights' The Essential Neruda