Instead of Tears
Instead of tears my eyes have stones
In them; tears can become as hard.
I have had tears enough and groans
Enough-a wounded animal moans
A little, then is on his guard.
Now I can think of you without
Love, without hate; I can think
Steadily about such things; about
Things like stones that leave no doubt—
Dark earth, and water cool to drink.
I am like a child to whom
Accustomed curves and edges mean
What to an invalid his room,
And the sweet regulated gloom,
And the implicit soft routine.
These reassure and satisfy
Heart and brain and hand and slow
Rovings of the anxious eye…
I think, if you should pass me by,
I should not know, I should not know.