A Poem from Virginia

Variation on a Theme by Rilke

(The Book of Hours, Book I, Poem I, Stanza I).

A certain day became a presence to me;

there it was, confronting me—the sky, air, light;

a being.  And before it started to descend

from the height of noon, it leaned over

and struck my shoulder as if with

the flat of the sword, granting me

honor and a task.  The day’s blow

rang out, metallic or it was I, a bell awakened,

and what I heard was my whole self

saying and singing what it knew:  I can.

Denise Levertov.  In Astley, S. (Ed.)  Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times, p. 45.  NY:  2002, Hyperion Books

Maybe

Maybe we dance from this elegant place

discarding our vulnerable bodies

like old work-clothes at the end of the day

Maybe essence enters the air flying

like monarchs in migration past roses

and rivers older than wood wizards.

Maybe meaning and magic stand up from

the landscape like summer lightning,

and for one holy moment

all questions have answers, all journeys have a home,

all living the roundness and warmth

of a stone clenched right in the hand.

Or maybe like four-year olds we

drop everything and simply run forward

dazzled again!

Roberta de Kay. P. In Fox, J.  Poetic Medicine:  The Healing Art of Poem-Making.  180. NY:  Tarcher/Putnam.