“I’m in pain,” you said.
“I need to crawl back in bed,
need to say it aloud;
I, on the other side of a wall.
There are walls of experience,
between us all.
The roof that keeps out
the rain of others’ pain,
in order that we might be a dry place for them.
Is it not a terrible, and blessed, truth
that on the other side of your seeing there are
on the other side of hearing there are
and on the other side of your feeling there is
pain and cold?