An it was at the age ... Poetry arrived in search of me.
I don´t know.
I don´t know where it came from, from winter or a river.
I don´t konw how or when,
no, they were not voices,
they were no words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of hight,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires or returning alone,
there I was witohut a face and it touched me.
- Pablo Neruda