The Man with Night Sweats

    I wake up cold， I who

    Prospered¹ through dreams of heat

    Wake to their residue²，

    Sweat， and a clinging sheet.

    My flesh was its own shield：

    Where it was gashed³， it healed.

    I grew as I explored

    The body I could trust

    Even while I adored

    The risk that made robust⁴，

    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 wrecked⁵.

    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 avalanche⁶ off.