This poem is taken from Stand 248, 23(4) December 2025 - February 2026.
Rain falls on my face
go to the limits of your longing – Rilke
When I listen to Rilke, the unsaid
words on my tongue blur at the edge:
limits turn liminal, the summit
is lost in a blue somewhere,
...
When I listen to Rilke, the unsaid
words on my tongue blur at the edge:
limits turn liminal, the summit
is lost in a blue somewhere,
...
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