By R.M Rilke
Translation Robert Bly
My eyes already touch the sunny hill
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has its inner light,even from a distance-
and changes us,even if we do not reach it,
into something else,which hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on,
answering our own wave….
but what we feel is only the wind in our faces