through her shipwrecked eyes

The girl made of wood didn't come here on foot;
suddenly there she was on the beach, sitting on the cobbles,
her head covered with old sea flowers,
her expression the sadness of roots.

There she stayed, watching over our open lives,
the moving and being and going and coming, over the earth,
as the day faded its gradual petals.
She watched over us without seeing us, the girl made of wood.

Crowned by ancient waves, she looked out
through her shipwrecked eyes:
she knew we live in a distant net

of time and water and waves and noise and rain,
without knowing if we exist, or if we are her dream.
This is the story of the girl made of wood.


_{Pablo Neruda, Sonnet LXVIII}