Rilke Series No.55
The myth makers have scattered you,
Left your body in the pine-wind. Speak
Again. Where I have left, Guapa—
Nothing wraps its tongue. Around. O
Hermano, he took the mare. Beat
Her: ribs broken. Again. Scattered
her blue body. Mountain-mouth. Beat
Until we all see. You—hooves. Holy.
Love. Like this. The myth
Makers now gather. Now build
As if a mountain could become
Out of the blue, Santiago—
One again. Love like this: Keep
Building after the scattering.