clear water

In her splendor islanded
This woman burning like a charm of jewels
An army terrifying and asleep
This woman lying within the night
Like clear water lying on closed eyes
In a tree's shadow
A waterfall halted halfway in its flight
A rapid narrow river suddenly frozen
At the foot of a great and seamless rock
At the foot of a mountain
She is lake-water in April as she lies
In her depth binding poplar and eucalyptus
Fishes or stars burning between her thighs
Shadow of birds scarcely hiding her sex
Her breasts two still villages under a peaceful sky
This woman lying here like a white stone
Like water in the moon in a dead crater
Not a sound in the night not moss nor sand
Only the slow budding of my words
At the ear of water at the ear of flesh
Unhurried running
And clear memorial
Here is the moment burning and returned
Drowning itself in itself and never consumed

—Octavio Paz (1914-1998), "In Her Splendor Islanded," translated by Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980); translation published in Poetry, June 1958.