but this July, with the right story
and patience, you can still
settle her down in our bed
in the wide berth of a weekend afternoon.
And that's why we're making love now
we're in her small room. Where you shift
on top. Where we coax and quicken
and your right hand,
braced against the wall,
inches up cool plaster.
Wind pushes in again and again,
always leaving slack the blind
to knock against the sash.
Yet, we feel no breeze through the window-
as if the blind's tugged inward
to balance a recurring loss of pressure
elsewhere in the house.
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