Lost Letter To Rilke

all things are transforming you, you said
in no cloudy citadel yourself at that time;
a life fraught with roses

the glances of roses and those at overwrought tea parties
who looked at you contemptuously, who is he,
as if you were a saint, freakish or something to move

when coveting the expensive antiques in the room
out of place or touch among such modern courtiers.
I caught your meanings on a latter day breeze

the words for feelings I had felt for a long time
outside on the porch, or in the evenings,in the small garden
by the magnolia tree

thinking, I thought then, of nothing at all..
what can I give or say or sing
to the poet who opened such a door on Infinity

as though we could live there?
we could live there as though in our dreams
you almost said come near to the face of God

to the ghosts of music in forgotten fields
let birdsong enter where you were
before you knew and now,

are you beautifully altered.
differently attuned.

I thought your effigy should decorate a tomb
forever embroidered with the roses you loved;
your reveries on earth's October avenues,

the rustling of leaves.
and now, it is all leaving: all you wrote
in how I lived-

or pure silks of victory should stream from Duino
after you had gone for the wanderers, later on
lost in mountain fog,

countryless and

climbing by your way

fast fading out in old photographs
or Song should be renamed for you alone.

mary angela douglas 29 may 2018