You could never really say what it is like,
this hour of drinking wine together
on a hot summer night, in the living room
with the windows open, in our underwear, a
few distant tower rooms looking
down into our window, my nylon bra
gleaming faintly in the heat, my bikini
panties with tiny pale-gold
gibbon monkeys on them . . . We talk about
leaving our son at camp, how finally he
disappeared among the pine boughs, we
could not tell what was amber bough and translucent beetle chrysalis and
what was the body of our love. The wine is
powerful, with a strong body that
fits itself into my mouth but keeps its
lake-pebble shape, wine so gold it
almost has some amber in it,