We are full of laughter,
and sometimes we wear your faces.
We are not far from you.
Who knows how much of your blood rose
And stained us?
accustom you gently to death.
You, the inexperienced, who learn nothing from the nights.
Many angels are given you
But you do not see them.
Excerpt from Chorus of Clouds, by Nelly Sachs,
translated by Ruth & Matthew Mead