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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