OK, brain still prone to weirdness. On to else.
Behind the Inculpable Trees
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Behind the inculpable trees
Slowly the old Fatality
Works out her silent face.
Wrinkles are drawing that way . . .
What down here a bird screeches
Bends off as a woe-line
At the hard soothsaying mouth.
O and the soon-to-be lovers
Smile on each other,ignorant of farewells.
Over them sets and rises
Starlike their destiny,
Still unoffered to them as experience
Poised in the course of spheres,
An airy configuration.
Thunder! From dry sunlight, thunder!
Spring is splendid!
(But I must shut down before the power goes out.)