If I had grown in some generous place –
if my hours had opened in ease –
I would make you a lavish banquet.
My hands wouldn’t clutch at you like this,
so needy and tight.
Then I’d have dared to squander you,
you Limitless Now.
I’d have tossed you into the ringing air
like a ball that someone leaps for and catches
with hands outstretched.
I would have painted you: not on the wall
but in one broad sweep across heaven.
I’d have portrayed you brashly:
as mountain, as fire, as a wind
howling from the desert’s vastness.
–Rilke
