fragment from lost days

 

 

...Like birds that get used to walking

and grow heavier and heavier, as in falling:

the earth sucks out of their long claws

the brave memory of all

the great things that happen high up,

and makes them almost into leaves that cling

tightly to the ground, -

like plants which,

scarcely growing upward, creep into the earth,

sink lightly and softly and damply

into black clods and sicken there lifelessly, -

like mad children, - like a face

in a coffin, - like happy hands that 

grow hesitant, because in the full goblet

things are mirrored that are not near, -

like calls for help which in the evening wind

collide with many dark huge chimes, -

like house plants that have dried for days,

like streets that are ill-framed, - like bright curls

within which jewels have grown blind, -

like early morning in April

facing the hospital's many windows:

the sick press up against the hall's seam

and look: the grace of a new light 

makes all the streets seem vernal and wide;

they see only the bright majesty

that makes the houses young and laughing,

and don't know that all night long

a storm ripped the garments from the sky,

a storm of waters, where the world still freezes,

a storm which this very moment roars through the streets

and takes all burdens

off the shoulder of each thing, -

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

art by Dali