After Rilke,you keep looking
Under the stars and beyond
Or under the old man’s bed.

Eyelashes have hid women.
Gently raise them to  stars
Of a night by a pale moon.

Some are jasmines to bud
On the blouse back’s night,
With its stars flowering yet.

Old jasmines are a history
Of  washer-man’s laundry.
Smell a washed out pocket.

Chase after old man Rilke
Keep looking a star beyond
Or under the old man’s bed.

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