I run after certain words… I catch them in mid-air, as they buzz past; I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives… And I stir them; I shake them; I drink them; I gulp them down; I mash them; I garnish them; I let them go…
–Pablo Neruda, date unknown, translated by C. MacCullum.
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