The Risk

This heart that beats but barely,
Like the broken wing of a bird…
It lifts no weight to be carried;
Too bruised by the tone of a word

Yet another may heal what is broken
And may touch the wound without pain.
But too close he must come without knowing;
He may break what is broken again.

When he puts forth his hand to touch me,
Do I trust in the look in his eyes?
For if guised his intent is malicious,
To let him too close is not wise.

But who can tell from a distance
Whether demon or doctor is he?
Should it quietly bear the inflicted,
Or with the healer, be “we”?