Poem | Rilkean Dream

I dreamed of myself as a light following
A greater series of lights, in a particular
Pattern of circles—

A veritable sense of a spiritual
Architecture, as in the shell of a conch,
Or what is sonic in the soaring arcs

Of language-—
What Rilke’s monk exhibits
In his painting—

Brushing the luminous colors
Of the ineffable in words.
Transcendence isn’t tangible, or tacit,

But a glimmering,
As a ray of light, or the single wave
In one ripple of water after another.

Published in the November 14, 2014 issue: 

Wally Swist’s books include Huang Po and the Dimensions of Love (Southern Illinois University Press, 2012), Candling the Eggs (Shanti Arts, LLC, 2017), The Map of Eternity (Shanti Arts, LLC, 2018), Singing for Nothing: Selected Nonfiction as Literary Memoir (The Operating System, 2018), and On Beauty: Essays, Reviews, Fiction, and Plays (Adelaide Books, 2018).

Also by this author
Poem | September Morning

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