Pietà

And so I see your feet again, Jesus,
which then were the feet of a young man
when shyly I undressed them and washed them;
how they were entangled in my hair,
like white deer in the thornbush.

And I see your never-loved limbs
for the first time, in this night of love.
We never lay down together
and now we have only adoring and watching over.

But look, your hands are torn-:
beloved, not from me, not from any bites of mine.
Your heart is open and anyone can enter:
It should have been the way in for me alone.

Now you are tired, and your tired mouth
has no desire for my aching mouth-.
0 Jesus, Jesus, when was our hour?
How we both wondrously perish.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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