Poetry Friday: How surely gravity's law

I didn't find this poem; it found me, wandering about, searching far and wide for something to post. "What are you doing, way out here and alone?" it scolded me.  So I came back and sat inside it for awhile.

From Rilke's Book of Hours

(as translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

How surely gravity's law,

strong as an ocean current,

takes hold of the smallest thing

and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing---

each stone, blossom, child---

is held in place.

Only we, in our arrogance,

push out beyond what we each belong to

for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered

to earth's intelligence

we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves

in knots of our own making

and struggle, lonely and confused.

So like children, we begin again

to learn from the things,

because they are in God's heart;

they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:

to fall,

patiently to trust our heaviness.

Even a bird has to do that

before he can fly.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by its founder, Kelly Herold,  at her new blog, Crossover.  So glad you're back, Kelly!