Numb, stiff, broken by no sleep, <br />I keep night watch. Looking for <br />signs to quiet fear, I creep <br />closer to his bed and hear <br />his breath come and go, holding <br />my own as if my own were <br />all I paid. Nothing I bring, <br />say, or do has meaning here. <br /> <br />Outside, ice crusts on river <br />and pond; wild hare come to my <br />door pacified by torture. <br />No less ignorant than they <br />of what grips and why, I am <br />moved to prayer, the quaint gestures <br />which ennoble beyond shame <br />only the mute listener. <br /> <br />No one hears. A dry wind shifts <br />dry snow, indifferently; <br />the roof, rotting beneath drifts, <br />sighs and holds. Terrified by <br />sleep, the child strives toward <br />consciousness and the known pain. <br />If it were mine by one word <br />I would not save any man, <br /> <br />myself or the universe <br />at such cost: reality. <br />Heir to an ancestral curse <br />though fallen from Judah's tree, <br />I take up into my arms my hopes, <br />my son, for what it's worth give <br />bodily warmth. When he escapes <br />his heritage, then what have <br /> <br />I left but false remembrance <br />and the name? Against that day <br />there is no armor or stance, <br />only the frail dignity <br />of surrender, which is all <br />that can separate me now <br />or then from the dumb beast's fall, <br />unseen in the frozen snow.<br /><br />Philip Levine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-thoughts-over-a-sick-child/
