Rilke Series No. 24

I love you, gentlest of Ways,

Your Nothing blue beat

Inside me. Outside

Me. The eye, God, I

want the subway bells, their

tongues, City-things

to Sing, O—

Nothing, guapa, inside,

Has it’s tongue, twisted,

In you. A need of me—Please,

gentlest of Ways, say—

Santiago prays her bones, still,

Keeps Nothing inside

Like this—Split.

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