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 abdomen¹ and vialed in

    Her navel then disappeared

    In crimson².  Unless they love

    Then wake in love

    Who can they ever be？  Their faces bloom，

    A rain mists down， the bare

    Bulb softens³ above the glass，

    So little light that

    The hands mumble⁴ deliciously，

    That the mouth opens

    Mothlike， like petals⁵ finding

    Themselves awake again

    At four o'clock mid⁶ shade and sun.