Monday, August 10, 2009

Robert Lowell

Seesaw

The night dark before its hour—
heavily, steadily,
the rain lashes and sprinkles
to complete its task—
as if assisting
the encroachments of our bodies
we occupy but cannot cure.

Sufferer, how can you help me,
if I use your sickness
to increase my own?

Will we always be
one up, the other down,
one hitting bottom, the other
flying through the trees—
seesaw inseparables?

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