'Without her, how can we ever
talk about what our hopes were...'
Ah, the rose. The most beautiful of all flowers. Seems Rilke is in agreement according to this exquisite reflection.
from The Roses - Rainer Maria Rilke
A single rose is every rose
and this one: irreplaceable,
perfect, a supple vocable
by the text of things enclosed.
Without her, how can we ever
talk about what our hopes were,
about the tender intervals
in this perpetual departure.
Let's not speak of you. Ineffable.
That is your nature.
Other flowers decorate the table
you transfigure.
We put you in a simple vase -
everything is mutable:
perhaps it's the same phrase,
but now sung by an angel.
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