Octavio Paz

the bird

In transparent silence day was resting: the transparency of space was silence's transparency. Motionless light of the sky was soothing the growth of the grass. Small things of earth, among the stones, under identical light, were stones Time sated itself in the minute. And in an absorbed stillness noonday consumed itself. And a bird sang, slender arrow. The sky shivered a wounded silver breast, the leaves moved, and grass awoke. And I knew that death was an arrow let fly from an unknown hand and in the flicker of an eye we die.