Archaic torso

Thinking like a  maker’s marble man,
His torso gleamed at us without a face.
You can always think through a torso,
However archaic it may be or ancient.

Feeling Rilke died by a beautiful rose.
What poetic death,stone Apollo feels,
In the torso that gazed at us facelessly.
It was light from the rippled muscles.

Apollo lost a face but not dark center
Where procreation flared for  beauty
And for love at the center of his body
With not a place that does not see you.

( reading Rilke’s beautiful poem The Archaic Torso of Apollo)


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