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.