Rilke

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me – the far off, deeply felt landscapes
cities, towers, and bridges, and unexpected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods –
all rise within in me to mean
you, who forever elude me

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house – and you almost
stepped out, pensive to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate in the evening.

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