Filled with summer, almost thoughtful,
its faithful head seemed deep and thick.
But now its bones cross the sky like streets.
And the sky doesn’t know us.
At best, if we tried to warp
like birds through new openings,
we would be denied by the right of space
to consort only with worlds.
Like flags, the waves we feel in our seams
seek the connection and comfort of open spaces—
–Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by James Burnham
Read the Full Story at Glimpses of South Pasadena