Poem: Rainer Maria Rilke

 I love the dark hours of my being. 

My mind deepens into them. 

There I can find, as in old letters, 

 the days of my life, already lived, 

 and held like a legend, 

and understood. 

 

Then the knowing comes: 

I can open to another life that’s wide and timeless. 

So I am sometimes like a tree rustling over a gravesite 

and making real the dream of the one its living roots embrace: 

 

a dream once lost among the sorrows and songs.