|From "Seven Phallic Poems", Rilke
||[Jul. 7th, 2010|12:57 pm]
How the too ample space has weakened you and me
Superfluity recollects itself suddenly.
Now wormwood and absinthe trickle through silent
sieves of kisses of bitter essence.
How much we are--from my body
a new tree raises its abundant crown
and mounts toward you: but what's it to be
without the summer which hovers in your womb.
Are you, am I, the one each so greatly delights?
Who can say, while we dwindle. Perhaps a column
of rapture stands in the chamber room,
sustains the vault, and more slowly subsides.
Rainer Maria Rilke