Only You

Only you, you alone, are.

We, however, wander forth until finally

our passing  is so immense

that you arise:  a moment

more beautiful and sudden

arising in love, or enchanted

in the contractions of work.

I am yours, yours, regardless of time’s

passage.  I am commanded from you, and

to you.  In the meantime,

the garland hangs by chance – unless you

take it up, up, up.  And

look:  festival!

Rainer Maria Rilke; translated M. S. Burrows; ©2006