Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Deep down,







the oldest
tangled root of all that's grown,
the secret source
they've never seen.


Helmet and horn of hunters,
old men's truths,
wrath of brothers,
women like lutes...


Branch pushing branch,
not one of them free...
One!  oh, climb higher... higher...


Yet they still break.
But this top one finally
bends into a lyre.



*



Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Dance the orange.









Who can forget it,



how,




drowning in itself,




it refuses




its own sweetness.









Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith
                                                                                                          

Monday, July 23, 2012

All is far














-and nowhere does the circle close.














Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Sunday, July 22, 2012

O knowledge,












feeling,



joy-




immense!














Rilke



Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Friday, July 20, 2012

Hail to the spirit













who can link us:




because we live in symbols,





really.

















Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Looking at the sky.














Is no constellation called "Rider"?

















Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Do we know





friends, 



                            do we or not?




These two mold 
the hesitating span



of time into features



of the human.










Rilke

Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Only










in the double-world


do voices become


eternal and mild.















Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Monday, July 16, 2012

But suddenly,










unpracticed and askant,




she lifts one of our voice's constellations




into the sky unclouded by her breath.















Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Sunday, July 15, 2012

He's one









                                                   of the messengers 



                                who stays,




                                          still extending bowls of glorious




                  fruit deep inside the doors of 




                           the dead.












Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Friday, July 13, 2012

Whoever's known











the roots 


of the willow


is better trained to bend the willow's 


limbs.













Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Let the rose












bloom every year







to remind us of him.













Rilke



Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

O you who are blessed












you who are whole














Rilke



Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

A god can do it.










For a god,
it's
almost 
nothing.











A breath about nothing.


A gust in the god.









A wind.








                             


                                            

Rilke


Photograph by Nicole Page-Smith