Mit Liebe Auf Rilke

In winter locked we thaw with our warmth
Like two new lovers who knew how to heal
With heat. They say in heaven there is no heat,
And in heaven there is no time, but in endless
Winter there is no heat and no time as well.
Does this make the requiem of love subsist
Upon the ancient flowers frosted with drips
Of pale ice the color of your languid eyes,
Or is the song of love fulminous below the frost
Like a slumbering bear, waiting to defend
Its younglings from the threats of guns and
False glory?

We are ever forgetful, us here on the Earth
So much so that we have forgotten that we
Have forgotten. But some of us remember,
Some of us hunger for that summertime that
Rings the ever-yes of light with clarion bells
And the delicate musics of light combined
With heat, raining upon a simple leaf the
Color of a lucent cat’s eye, ever knowing
The sun without sight, which is far more
Intelligent than the most blind among us.

You were my only friend in lost times,
When frost-bite crept into my soul
And rot into my blood, you steadied
My hand so that I could write with
Summer, so that I could develop
The seasons within myself. To
Say I am grateful for your words would
Make language too powerful, I am
Not grateful, but I am penitent, kind,
And hopeful because of you, because
Of your courage kept between two
Terrible wars and because of your
Bravery in the face of an ignorant killer;
You still managed to write a gift to all
Of us in the midst of your misery,
Ever good Rilke.