I love you, gentlest of Ways,
who ripened us as wrestled with you.
You, the great homesickness we could never shake
you the forest that always surrounded us,
you, the song we sang in every silence,
you dark net threading through us,
on the day you made us you created yourself,
and we grew sturdy in your sunlight…
Let your hand rest on the rim of Heaven now
and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.
-Rilke, Book of Hours, I,25