Poet Rilke died by his beautiful rose.
What poetic death,stone Apollo feels,
In a torso that gazed at us facelessly.
It was light from the marbled inside.
Apollo lost a face but not dark center
Where procreation flared for beauty
And love was in the center of body.
He has not a place that does not see.
( reading Rilke’s beautiful poem The Archaic Torso of Apollo)