A rainy, poetry day

There is work to do, but...

"In which window did I remain..."

Outside my window the birds seem to frolic
 in the first rain in a long, long time.
Their reflections on the wet sidewalk flutter
from tree to ground seeking food--
Junkos, wrens, blue jays, cardinals, doves
squawking, cooing, chirping, 
joined by squirrels busy  gathering acorns
or running from limb to limb.
Our cats are fascinated, and then bored,
being cats on the floor stalking or fighting each other.
Water, like time,  drips from the eaves and branches.
There is work to do--
writing due Monday, a storage closet half cleaned, 
still messy on the floor but...
First a cup of coffee, a trip to the bookshelf...
Poetry calls, and
Pablo Neruda answers
with his Book of Questions...

"En que' idioma ca la lluvia
sobre cuidades dolorosas"
In which lanuage does rain fall
over tormented cities?"

"Hay dos comillos mas agudos
que las silabas de chacal?"
Are there two fangs sharper
that the syllables of jackal?

"Y no naufragan los veleros
por un exceso de vocales?"
When they stow too many vowels
don't sailing ships wreck?

"Puedes amarme, silabaria,
y darme un beso sustantivo?
Can you love me, syllabary,
and give me a meaningful kiss?
Un diccionario es un sepulcro
o es un panal del miel cerrado?
Is a dictionary a sepulchre
or a sealed honeycomb?
En que' fentana me cquede'
mirando el tiempo sepultado?
In which window did I remain
watching buried time?
O lo que miro desde lejos
es lo que no he vivido aun?"
Or is what I see from afar
what I have not yet lived?

Now, there is work to do....