AFTER RILKE
—a cento
1.
not from shyness this silence of theirs
no ear but is half broken
and nearly touchable
air without object a gust within God a wind
grows now too heavy for you to bear
~
all becomes arbor
resurrected
into all that may be seen
and flings it free of sorrow heavenward
~
antenna to antenna we posit
this sweetness thick at first
begrudging us
changing like cloud formations
in course of time they break
though we like swimmers tax ourselves
at length
2.
you whom I loved like an unnamed flower
you breeze so full of spots
who with the dead
by one deft touch
do we know or do we not
Little Bristling Soul 