You are ill and so I lead you away
and put you to bed in the back room
-- you lie breathing softly and I hold your hand
feeling the fingertips relax as sleep comes
You will not sleep more than a few hours
for this illness is less serious than my anger or cruelty
but this dark bedroom is a foretaste of other darknesses
to come later which all of us must endure alone
but here I am permitted to be with you
After a while in your sleep your fingers clutch tightly
and I know that whatever may be happening
-- the fear coiled in dreams or the bright trespass of pain --
there is nothing at all I can do except hold your hand
and not go away
|
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