Favorite Poem

The Panther – by Rainer

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,

has grown so weary that it cannot hold

anything else. It seems to him there are

a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,

the movement of his powerful soft strides

is like a ritual dance around a center

in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils

lift, quietly–. An image enters in,

rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,

plunges into the heart and is gone.