He continues to ponder

    And his wife moves next to him.

    She looks.  They look at themselves

    Looking through the fog.

    She has a meeting she says in about

    Thirty minutes， he has

    Something too.  But still she has

    Just stepped out of the bath

    And a single drop of water

    Has curved along her breast

    Down her abdomen and vialed in

    Her navel then disappeared

    In crimson.  Unless they love

    Then wake in love

    Who can they ever be？  Their faces bloom，

    A rain mists down， the bare

    Bulb softens above the glass，

    So little light that

    The hands mumble deliciously，

    That the mouth opens

    Mothlike， like petals finding

    Themselves awake again

    At four o'clock mid shade and sun.