making real, among sorrows & songs

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 sorrows and songs.

{i,5 from rilke's 'book of hours'}

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