You, the hour, are deserting me,

wounding me with the beat of your wings.

Alone: now what use my mouth?

What are my days and nights to me?

I have no sweetheart and no house,

nowhere that is my home ground. All things

into which I give myself

grow in riches and give me out.

Rainer Maria Rilke (Translated by Susan Ranson and Marielle Sutherland)