Ode to Pablo Neruda
Ode to the master
of odes.
He who can
change
the most ordinary things
into something
marvelous-
because he knows
that there is
nothing ordinary.
Who can
put wings
on top of
microwaves
and find
red carpets
made from side walks.
The poet
who can
knit socks
into golden skies
and spin dreams
out of dirt floors.
Who writes
of skin
like clay,
hands
like doves’ wings,
and
of a love
so deep
but hardly speaks
her name.
Please, Master,
show me
how to discover
the magnificent.
Please, Teacher,
show me
how to tell
the majestic mountains
that there is as much
magic
in the pebbles below.