Being tired yourself is awful. Of course it is. But living with someone who is tired, that comes with a quite different sense of helplessness. Simple language and construction for this one.
If there was some fine smelling-salt to hold
Beneath your face – a candle, in praise of you –
I’d wake you. If there were some genuine crystal,
Bloodier than red, weighted like a heart
In the hand, I’d press its lifeblood magic,
Share its fire; if manna were a food
I’d serve a feast of spirit: no, more than that,
I’d make enough for lunch tomorrow too,
Tupperware the joy of life. If there
Were some fast liquor, like sparks of lightning, poured,
I’d give a shot. Should amber-scented oils
Rubbed into your tired muscles to the trick,
I could persuade the Gordian knot to part:
I wish that there were something I could do.
But somehow, there appears no potency
In art or nature that can keep this warmth
Between us. I’ll do what I can, but please,
Please, do not fall asleep.