Wednesday, November 02, 2011


“Where the woman in love is dew,
we are a plummeting stone.”

--Rainer Maria Rilke

Having never been a woman.  Having never been
in love with the dew.  Having been neither
stone nor its plummeting.  Having been loved,
in love.  Having been awake in the presence

of stone, of dew.  Having been awakened by
love’s plummetless stones, kisses planted
on eyelids like grapes.  Having been alive, awake
when love awoke, I can say I have fallen.

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