A nightmare to us

His caring is a nightmare to us,

and his voice a stone.

We would like to heed his words,

but we only half hear them.

The big drama between us

Makes too much noise

for us to understand each other.

We watch his lips moving,

shaping sounds that die away.

We feel endlessly distant,

though we are endlessly bound by love.

Only when we notice that he is dying 

do we know he lived.

-- from "The Book of Hours: Love Poems to God" by Ranier Maria Rilke. English translation by Anita  Barrows and Joanna R. Macy.

(I've been trying to think of something insightful that I could say about this. I can't seem to find words that would say anything more penetratingly true than what Rilke, through Barrows and Macy, already said. What are your thoughts?)