Nat’l Poetry Month 6/30

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.


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