Upstairs two of them were
posing in states of rhapsodic
abandon, their skin rough and
blemished, not like
those good-looking girls, genteel
sisters, standing against
Chinese tapestries in
Vienna. They squeeze
the hearts of men, are
sardonic, flippant and intense and
for their heads the season weaves
spring flowers
into a crown. A greyhound,
a mandolin, a fruit dish with
pears, two figs
on a table.