tracing silence
  • journal
  • about
  • instagram
  • matter
  • subscribe

oubliette

28/11/2018

 


“Isn’t it time that these most ancient sorrows of ours 
grew fruitful? Time that we tenderly loosed ourselves 
from the loved one, and, unsteadily, survived: 
the way the arrow, suddenly all vector, survives the string 
to be more than itself. For abiding is nowhere.” 

​Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies, 1923

Comments are closed.
© 2021 Guy Dickinson