Until the sky gives up its unendurable beauty of Bach heard by someone alone in her room dying, I wish for this sadness to leave but it will never leave. But I am also glad: I know that at this very moment your poor head is resting on Christ's breast; I know you are comfortably seated at the Buddha's feet, listening forever to his calm voice and waiting on me, me still failing here, toward you, and following in the bodiless footsteps of God, most peripheral and unlikely of followers, keeping an eye on Him from a distance and hoping to remain among the unnoticed in love. I am certain you have now contributed your creature's small light to the great peal of Light still issuing from the beginning, and rapidly traveling towards us from the end...
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d., 1959 - 2005, franz wright.