Sailing west

And this one is inspired by Rilke's yugen.

Nightly hours

When the hours so near
as in your own heart strike
and everything with craving
voices asks:
Are you there?

Then I am not the one,
who in the morning wakes up lightly:
a name is given to me in the night,
that nobody I speak by day,
can call out lightly.

Every door
in me gives in…

And then I know, that it will never pass,
no gesture, no prayer
(therefore this things seem too immovable ) –
my whole childhood stands
always in me.
Never am I alone.
Many who lived before and strived,
wove,
wove,
wove my being.

And when I lay down
and whisper hoarse to you:
Me pain –
do you hear?

Who knows how and where
you will murmur with me.