The Full

I walked home tonight singing, alone, and thought of you crying this week over your lost hearing. In the wind moving over me I felt your hands smoothing my hair, washing my face, coaxing me to sleep. Your house was always home.

This loss so great, which I know you are reading as the beginning of the end -- I will not let you disappear beneath its calm, deadly waters.

I have no chair, no church, no philosophy; I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, or exchange; But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooking you round the waist, 1205 My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road. Not I—not any one else, can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me;	1215
For after we start, we never lie by again.