Winter´s liminality III

The Book of Hours. Rilke

I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to consecrate every hour.
I am too small in the world, and not small enough
to be a thing in your eyes,
shadowed  and shrewd.
I need my will, to go with it as it drives
its way to the deed;
and at quiet, hesitant times I need,
when something is draws near,
to be among those to whom it is known
or to be alone.
I must mirror you full height. I am not too old
or blind for my arms to keep their hold
on your image, swaying unwieldily.
And I must unfold.
I cannot allow myself to bend,

for in bending I shall have lied too in the end.

And my mind shall be true

before your face. I shall be to you

like a picture I studied

slowly, close to,

like a vessel in use,

like my mother´s face,

or a ship

bearing me, that withstood

the deadliest wind.

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