Friday, December 7, 2018

The Man with Night Sweats by Thom Gunn

The Man with Night Sweats

I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat 
Wake to their residue, 
Sweat, and a clinging sheet.  

My flesh was its own shield: 
Where it was gashed, it healed. 

I grew as I explored 
The body I could trust 
Even while I adored
The risk that made robust, 

A world of wonders in
Each challenge to the skin. 

I cannot but be sorry
The given shield was cracked,
My mind reduced to hurry, 
My flesh reduced and wrecked. 

I have to change the bed, 
But catch myself instead 

Stopped upright where I am 
Hugging my body to me 
As if to shield it from 
The pains that will go through me,       

As if hands were enough 
To hold an avalanche off.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.