Here. I am waiting.
Even if the lights go out, even if someone
says to me: ‘No more’ - even if emptiness
reaches me as a grey draught of air from the stage,
even if none of my silent forefathers
sits by me anymore, not one woman,
not even the boy with the brown, squinting, eyes.
I’ll still be here. One can always watch.
(Rilke Elegies IV)
The Fugitive Stag 