You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.
So many are alive who don't seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched.
But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.
You are not dead yet, itâ€™s not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.
Book of Hours:
Love Poems to God
by Rainer Maria Rilke