today, a Sunday poem, from Rilke's Book of Hours:
Because once someone dared
to want you,
I know that we, too, may want you.
When gold is in the mountain
and we've ravaged the depths
till we've given up digging,
it will be brought forth into day
by the river that mines
the silences of stone.
Even when we don't desire it,
God is ripening.
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