by Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours
I am, you timid one. Do you not hear How my longing is washing against your ear? my feelings, which grew angels’ wings, encircle you like down.
Do you not see my soul as it comes up to you in its gown? Does not my springtime prayer in degrees ripen by my looking up?
If you are the dreamer, then I am the dream. Yet if you wanted to stay awake, I would be your will and would take charge of all your majesty and curl up like the stillness of stars over this city called time.













