The little fascist state that lives inside me
boards windows, doors, abandons buildings. Whole
neighborhoods are blacked out. The faintest fall
         of light or sound could start a revolution.
                    Oblivion's one solution:
         cut off from sense, to wither and forget.
What masked guerrilla lies tonight beside me,
                    enters that zone
I thought was cordoned off from everyone?
          Three o'clock. Four. The space seems empty, yet
                    stirs like uneasy water.

         And presently the coverings unpeel,
flash tiny panoramas one by one.
Two married bodies, parallel, alone,
         lie sleeping near the sea with salty eyes.
                     Crickets italicize
...