Faqir

But look: stock-still against the churchyard wall,
a man who seems to have no strength at all
is leaning; in his great, dark eyes are fed
the fires of grief, like candles for the dead.
Rustic his clothing, of a coarse grey thread;
he claws his wild hair with a wandering hand
and stares, quite lost, toward the mountain's rand
as if with pinions quietly outspread
his soul readies for that other land.

~ Rilke, Visions of Christ, Polikoff, 30.