Rilke

I dream I've written a poem under the name Rainier Maria Rilke.

And that it's accepted for publication by The New Yorker.

The poetry editor wants me to change one word however, the word "rutted."

That word makes the poem, I say. If I change that word or use another word in its place it's not a poem anymore.

After my death, my literary executors find the poem, unpublished, among my papers.

It's included in the "Uncollected Poems" section of the "Collected Poems of Rainier Maria Rilke."

On my Facebook page, posted posthumously by my publisher, the poem is featured as representative of my shorter work.

As of today, June 5, 2014, the poem has 5 "likes" on Facebook.

I was right not to change the word, the word "rutted" belonged to the poem the way I belonged to my life and the way you belong to your life, dear reader.

And that real poems come to us in our dreams will always be true.