736 and 752
They take the eyes that see too much, and close
the lights upon them, letting them go dark.
They take the ears that fear, and quiet those
who make noise, even noise he needn’t hark.
They take the hairs that rise upon his neck
and brush them down again with whispered hush.
They take his flinching muscles, marking check
with kisses, and they feel no pious rush.
Theirs is a care they never had to bear,
but gave, despite the torture they took in.
They knew the sinew that he needn’t wear,
and how to so undress his fearful skin.
So spirit rested from tormented clay,
allowed, at last, to sleep, and let sleep stay.
~~~
Tell no man what you’ve said to me, that I,
who sought you so sincerely, am the fraud.
Who said so honestly, with you right by,
without any external, prying prod,
what was the truest thing I ever said,
what was without ambition, nor with haste,
that was what roars throughout my raucous head,
I said so tempered—charitably chaste:
I said that I would love to talk with you.
How quiet! How so absolute the claim!
But what, with that truth, did you go to do
with what I’d laid for you? You gave me blame.
For who would have said what I did, if not
a heart that bleeds, that—once—your heart had bought?