To Rainer Maria Rilke, Again

to say the things that have no end

was granted you that they could be

wrapped in rose leaves by your friends

all those rampart riven nights you felt the

fissure of birdsong in your soul and sudden angels

or how a stroll on an autumn avenue alone

with the spectres of leaves whirling

seemed like a stroll into Infinity you composed

transfiguring as if language were your sky the interior meanings

the planets over the sleeping towns.

how can we know the things you knew this time around

in a far century too

any other way than to read the Duino Elegies

in a midnight hour

to gather up things to say when the violins

have all gone silent in this world in the way they sang to you:

the lexicon of beauty missing its key note.

mary angela douglas 5 august 2021