Now we will count to twelve/and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth,/let’s not speak in any language;/let’s stop for one second,/and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment/without rush, without engines; we would all be together/in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea/would not harm whales/and the man gathering salt/would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,/wars with gas, wars with fire,/victories with no survivors,/would put on clean clothes/and walk about with their brothers/in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused/with total inactivity./Life is what it is about;/I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single minded/about keeping our lives moving,/and for once could do nothing,/perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness/of never understanding ourselves/and of threatening ourselves with death. /Perhaps the earth can teach us/as when everything seems dead/and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count to twelve/and you keep quiet and I will go.

–Pablo Neruda

With thanks to the Center for Biological Diversity which sent this poem by post card with a picture of a red fox.

Pablo Neruda, in Argentina, 1971