Iain Hill - for Rilke

a cold air snatches my lungs tonight
like bromide

wistful I walk the streets awed by the broken beauty of all I see
neither reverence nor celebration do I encounter there
nor excitation of expectant hope

rather more the forlorn heart
like a hand dulled by winter wind
stumbling to withdraw itself to pocket

was it the same so many ages ago when rock and sand
heat and horizon beckoned us with thirst and a green promise?

was it the same halting chimera of joy in the mists still uncovered
that hurried us along to idols broken
still with hunger? even with bellies full

in a throng of voices
and alone with misshapen passions spent
amongst the void that only the human heart can dare to fathom
can the cry of ages be assuaged?

certainly not for those dry in spirit and drunk with commerce
still in love with the productions of time
resenting the sublime body naked
rich as it is - blood warm
its union with another showing nature most high

perhaps it is even grander and stranger still
that we make this journey alone
inside ourselves - tarrying through a forest of our own making
heralding its secrets back to a world that may not hear
and even if having done so
cannot answer

Iain Hill

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-rilke/