not in a hundred years would

I have imagined that I

could have met you as we have met...

only to know joy despite common sufferings

like a gift of rest in a welter of fever

either of us soothed by witch hazel and dream


how could it otherwise when the only vision

under the sleeping lid

becomes your form in my mind's eye and

becomes again your flesh on my flesh

and is the only happiness sustaining me

right up until the the fever breaks and you

dabbing my forehead with the cool water of your grace






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