|||
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands, Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round: You have moon lines, apple paths: Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as the night in Cuba; You have vines and stars in your hair; Naked, you are spacious and yellow As summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails, Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born And you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores: Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves, And becomes a naked hand again.
– Pablo Neruda