We have known such joy as a child knows.
My sons, in whom everything rests,
know that there were those who were deeply
in love, and who asked you in,
and who did claim a tree of thoughts
like family branches would sustain you
My sons, in whom I am well pleased,
you will learn that a man is not a child,
and there is that which a woman cannot bear,
but as deep wounds for which you may hate
me, who must live in you a long time,
coursing abrasively in the murky passages.
These poems, also, are such and such passages
as I have had to leave you. If very little
can pass through them, know that I did,
and made them, and finally did not need them.
We have known such joys as a child knows,
and will not survive, though you have them.