“For silence,” he’d put a pearl
in each ear, “so he could think!”
So I rose up from bed.
It was snowing outside, of course,
in the Alps, after Christmas.
So I walked nude to the window,
opened it; snow fell on me and melted.
Snow obscured the Alps,
and I obscured the snow.
“Witch,” he said,
“What is far comes near,” I said,
“as time allows.”
He could not hear; he read my lips
and lay down, writing
wave equations with me.