The Angel
With a slight tilt of his forehead he rejects
everything that hems in and obliges;
for the wide circles of the eternal Coming
move hugely erected through his heart.
The deep heavens stand before him full of shapes,
and each may call to him: come, know me–,
Give his light hands nothing to hold
of your burdens. Otherwise they’ll come at night
to you, to test you with a firmer grip,
and go like someone angry through your house
and sieze you as if they’d created you
and break you out of your mold.
~ Rilke
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