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.

My gaze is already upon the hill, the sunny one,
at the end of the path which I've only just begun.
We are taken, by that which we cannot grasp
at such great distance, yet so near—

and it changes us, even when we do not reach it,
into something, that, hardly sensing it, we already are;
a sign appears, echoing our own direction . . .
But what we sense is the falling winds.

Softly falling in love with life
Autumn foolishness
Moss over ruined stone
Like soft skin over the deadly scars
of my heart
Namo Amida Bu.