598 and 599

How well I’d use the water in your well

if you would wish to give it. But of course,

you wish the tree would work for you as well,

I am what you need, too—your true recourse.

But I’ll not give you shade without your pail,

and you’ll not bring me drink without my leaves.

Our finest parts consistently will fail—

resentment holds us back and, too, bereaves.

You hate the sight of thirsty twigs on me,

as I despise the way you overflow.

You hide your excess where I cannot see,

and I hide dryness so that you can’t know.

Yet what we hide is what we must reveal—

we must love what we hate, and help to heal.

~~~

Are you as tired as you say you are?

Then let me weave a cover for your eyes,

and write a song to make all sounds sound far,

until your short breath settles into sighs.

You’ve done too much for one to do alone.

Leave all for me, your steward I shall be,

be blissful, peaceful, pastorally prone—

a painting—while your work you leave to me.

Then wake, after a long, long while yet,

and see that naught but joy awaits for you.

All trouble for your work you may forget,

I’ll do everything that you hate to do.

So that I might see you awake, and free,

and that your restful eyes might land on me.