NO, MY LIFE IS NOT THIS PRECIPITOUS HOUR
through which you see me passing at a run.
I stand before my background like a tree.
Of all my many mouths I am but one,
and that which soonest chooses to be dumb.
I am the rest between two notes
which, struck together, sound discordantly,
because death’s note would claim a higher key.
But in the dark pause, trembling, the notes meet,
And the song continues sweet.
The Book of Hours
Rainer Maria Rilke