My life isn’t this hurtling hour,
in which you see me scuttling.
I am a tree, standing in front of so much…
I am the pause between two notes
that may somehow always be out of harmony
because Death’s note wants to win-
But in the dark interval
they reconcile, trembling.
And the Song remains beautiful.
Rilke, “Mein Leben ist nicht diese steile Stunde”