Rilke

Yesterday late evening I had a poetry-reading-meditation in my bed.
Two poems from Rilke (Rilke's book of hours - love poems to God) stayed with me during the night:

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them grattefully
into a single cloth -
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a differend celebration

where the one guest is you
In the softness of evening
it's you who she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking centre of her monologues.
With each disclosure youo encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.

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Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.