You, neighbor God, if sometimes in the night
I rouse you with loud knocking, I do so
only because I seldom hear you breathe
and know: you are alone.
And should you need a drink, no one is there
to reach it to you, groping in the dark.
Always I hearken. Give but a small sign.
I am quite near.

Between us there is a narrow wall,
and by sheer chance; for it would take
merely a call from your lips or from mine
to break it down,
and that without a sound.

The wall is builded of your images.

They stand before you, hiding you like names,
And when the light within me blazes high
that in my inmost soul I know you by,
their radiance is squandered on their frames.

And then my senses, which too soon grow lame,
Exiled from you, must go their homeless ways.