august 6

it happens

they knocked on my door on the sixth of august:
nobody was standing there
and nobody entered, sat down in a chair
and passed the time with me, nobody

i will never forget that absence
that entered me like a man enters his own house,
and i was satisfied with nonbeing:
an emptiness open to everything.

nobody questioned me, saying nothing,
and i answered without seeing or speaking.

such a spacious and specific interview!

-pablo neruda

this poem comes to me as i have been trying to learn more about someone i lost on august 6, 2003. what answers will come, i am not sure, but as i read this poem i think- how important it is know someone or maybe not know them?