How shall I hold my soul, that it may not be touching yours?
How shall I lift it then above you to where other things are waiting?
Ah, gladly would I lodge it, all-forgot,
with some lost thing the dark is isolating
on some remote and silent spot that,
when your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating.
You and me - all that lights upon us, though,
brings us together like a fiddle-bow
drawing one voice from two strings it glides along
Across what instrument have we been spanned?
And what violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest song.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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