You said live out loud, and die you said lightly,
and over and over again you said be.
But before the first death came murder.
A fracture broke across the rings you’d ripened.
A screaming shattered the voices
that had just come together to speak to you,
to make of you a bridge
over the chasm of everything.
And what they have stammered ever since
of your ancient name.
— Rilke, The Book of Hours I, 9