You told me that you’d read,
And were struck by
That night in bed,
A sermon on the naked limbs that lie
Inside your soul,
And as you told me so,
Our youngest son, whose loud voice cried, rushed
Usurpingly to climb
Inside our sheets and quilt, with soaked pyjamas
Stripped just in time,
And tears as suddenly stopped and hushed
As those of laments and psalms are.
He mumbles to your heart in bed:
You will lay him down when he is quieted.
