by Rainer Maria Rilke
In there, the languid pacing of their paws
creates a stillness that can almost daze;
then one of the great cats abruptly draws
your gaze (which periodically strays)
forcefully into its great eye, and there
your gaze, held fast as if within the whirl
of a maelstrom, stays afloat a little while,
then sinks below and knows itself no more,
when that same eye, which only seems to drowse,
snaps open and then roars as it slams shut,
dragging your gaze inside its own red blood—
so, long ago, the giant window-rose
of the cathedrals would snatch up a heart
from darkness and would drag it into God.
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