Damp-haired from the bath， you drape yourself

    upside down across the sofa， reading，

    one hand idly sunk into a bowl

    of crackers¹， goldfish with smiles stamped on.

    I think they are growing gills， swimming

    up the sweet air to reach you. Small girl，

    my slim miracle， they multiply.

    In the black hours when I lie sleepless，

    near drowning， dread-heavy， your face

    is the bright lure I look for， love's hook

    piercing me， hauling me cleanly up