rilke's book of hours is being digested and is pouring out the tips of my fingers

oh, father, where could you possibly be when it is so dark outside?
i can't find you anywhere...

every breath searches for you
the fine mist pushes its way across a room
there is nothing
i will always expect you around corners
and dark passageways
the way in which the heart never gives up
is amazing and a bit sad
if i could let you go for even a moment
the hole in my heart could rest

in the dark of autumn i beg to hear your voice
and want a small pardon from
the gods that guard your gate
while all of the world wants and is unsatisfied
let me beg shamelessly for one thing and
then be done with it

as god on high will hear my name let me speak
and then know only silent prayers
for my own father belongs to the heavens
as does his and as does his
i wish not to meet him in that solemn territory
but to feel his embrace as though time has
known nothing of us
and into a starry night as that of clouds
let my words be weapons unto the gods

amen