Damp-haired from the bath， you drape yourself
upside down across the sofa， reading，
one hand idly sunk into a bowl
of crackers， goldfish with smiles stamped on.
I think they are growing gills， swimming
up the sweet air to reach you. Small girl，
my slim miracle， they multiply.
In the black hours when I lie sleepless，
near drowning， dread-heavy， your face
is the bright lure I look for， love's hook
piercing me， hauling me cleanly up