Tanagra.

1 December, 2008 § Leave a comment

A bit of baked earth,
baked as by a might sun.
As if the gesture
that a girl’s hand makes
had suddenly remained:
without reaching for anything,
leading from feeling
toward no object,
only touching itself
like a hand raised to a chin.

We lift and we keep turning
the same few figures;
we can almost understand
why they don’t perish, – –
but we’re meant only
more deeply and wonderingly
to cling to what once was
and smile: a bit more clearly
perhaps than the year before.

– – rainer maria rilke, 1907

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