.
.
I have many brothers in the South
who move, handsome in their vestments,
through cloister gardens.
The Madonnas they make are so human,
and I dream often of their Titians,
where God becomes an ardent flame.
.
But when I lean over the chasm of myself -
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.
.
This is the ferment I grow out of.
.
More I don't know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.
.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
from The Book of Monastic Life, I,3
.
