Charles Simic - The Oldest Child
The night still frightens you.You know it is interminableAnd of vast, unimaginable dimensions."That's because His insomnia is permanent,"You've read some mystic say.Is it the point of His schoolboy's compassThat pricks your heart? Somewhere perhaps the lovers lieUnder the dark cypress trees,Trembling with happiness,But here there's only your beard of many daysAnd a night moth shiveringUnder your hand pressed against your chest. Oldest child, PrometheusOf some cold, cold fire you can't even nameFor which you're serving slow timeWith that night moth's terror for company.
