And we, who are going to live after all,

get up from our daybeds, chaise lounges, settees,

pull off the twisted linen, brush our hair back

into bright hands, and smoothe the color—

lipstick—back into our cheeks. How well

we look! How clearly we are the portrait

of well-being, gathering ourselves at the pond’s

edge and spreading out our towels; so sun-

enamored we hardly recognize this future, so

brownly we burn, so whitely our secret parts

shine—as if these two tones were our own

invention and not the device of a Nature

who saves us as a gift for Eros—you know

him—the Hungry One.