THE PANTHER

His gaze has grown so tired from the bars
passing, it can't hold anything anymore.
It is as if there were a thousand bars
and behind a thousand bars nothing.

The soft gait of powerful supple strides,
which turns in the smallest of all circles,
is like a dance of strength around a center
where an imperious will stands stunned.

Only at times the curtain of the pupils
silently opens-. Then an image enters,
passes through the taut stillness of the limbs-
and in the heart ceases to be.

- Rilke