Here they are, the voice says.
Dear Alabaster, the two figures.
The bed, the sleeping and the meadow, says the voice,
and the meaning the two of them can't locate.
Any minute now they'll find it?
The man and the woman who are here inside the voice
The bread of the world, sex, oh, trouble, trouble.
Fingers and teeth at the refectory table. Since dawn
the roil of it, one body and one body's hunger, multiplied, carried,
and the old paintings on the walls, always those
gardens of blame: your honor [...]