The night, stirred by burgeoning storms
how it grew suddenly vast ––
as if it remains otherwise folded up
in the tiniest faults of time.
Ah, son do you know, do you know
where you come from?
from a lake with white
and hungry gulls

you come from so many places
from the water, and the earth
I step out of it''s glimmering half light
into open-ness and evening. Into the winds
that stand slowly grinding at the sky''s edge,
now I too am a thing held in it''s hand.

Because now,
here it is, see how it passes
dragging the heavenly stones,
destroying flowers and leaves
with a noise of foam lashed
against all the stones of your world.
With torches which like loosened hair,
blow in the great wind of their pursuit.

11/17/2005

Author's Note: collab with paul (he did most of it) From a stormy night –– Rilke The Son –– Neruda Evening in Skane –– Rilke Girls –– Neruda The boy - Rilke

Posted on 11/18/2005
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