exposed on the cliffs of the heart

Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there,
look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered bird flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial. - But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...

Rainer Maria Rilke

Words are not enough. Still we try. Over the flickering candlelight, under the metallic canopy of cricket and grasshopper and the silent hum of night moths, we try to put into words what words - lithesome, protean, light as breath - were never meant to bear. But it is ok. In the knowing silences that permeate our laughter and speech I feel the gentle warmth of our accord. And that is enough.

Know, simply, that I will miss you more than words can say.