Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps:
silence of paintings. You, language where all language
ends. You, time
standing vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.
Feelings for whom? O you the transformation
of feelings into what? - : into audible landscape.
You stranger: music. You, heart-space
grown out of us. The deepest space in us,
which, rising above us, forces its way out, -
when the innermost point in us stands
outside, as the most practiced distance, as the other
side of the air:
no longer habitable.
- Rainer Maria Rilke