Apollo’s Archaic Torso

(after the German of Rainer Maria Rilke) We have no knowledge of his ancient brow where pippins ripen. Yet his torso gleams, reflecting the candela, luminous streams that yet pour from his gaze, his glance’s glow still radiant, though dimmed. If not, his bare breast would not blind you in the silent turn of hip and thighs, a smile not flash and burn through groins, his genitals not ever glare. If not, this stone would seem deformed and small, the light beneath his shoulder’s sudden fall not seem a preying panther’s shimmering mane, not burst beyond the limits of the skies, starlike, until there is no point or plane
 blind to your ways. You must change your life.