"We’re only mouth. Who sings the distant heart
that dwells whole at the center of all things?
Its great pulse is distributing among us
in tiny beatings. And its great pain
is, like its great rejoicing, too much for us.
So again and again we tear ourselves loose
and are only mouth. But all at once
the great heartbeat secretly breaks in on us
so that we scream …
And then are being, transformation, visage."
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Schöneck, end of September 1923, in Uncollected Poems, trans. Edward Snow