It’s like a fireworks: well, no, it’s really like a Persian rug.” Rainer Maria Rilke
It is a comfort that even great writers
fumble over themselves to find words
to describe loveliness in nature.
This morning I sat back and watched
as Rilke stumbled to describe a few twigs
of heather included in a letter.
I don’t mean, he fell down,
but his heart and soul were so overjoyed
that words cascaded out of him in a
tumult and torrent of one whose
words themselves are love for the page,
caresses, really, a bit of friskiness,
and flirtation, soft kisses and hard,
every bit of the page opens to him
and wants more, more words,
more phrases, say it again,
quietly now, breathe it in my ear,
over here, and right there – – again.
In a moment, the page grabs him
wraps him in her arms,
the two are one, full of passion
and warmth, tumbling,
spilling over the edges of description.
Oh, to arouse such desire from the page itself.
Inspiration from – Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cezanne
photo from here
It is April – National Poetry Month, and I will be participating in NaPoWriMo, writing a poem a day for the month of April.