When you go to bed, don't leave bread or milk on the table: it attracts the dead. — Rainer Maria Rilke

A tree ascended there. Oh pure transendence!

Oh Orpheus sings! Oh tall tree in the ear!

And all things hushed. Yet even in that silence

a new beginning, beckoning, change appeared.

They more adeptly bend the willow's branches

who have experience of the willow's roots.