London, 1943

The heat came on as did the radio

-Eine Kleine Nachtmusik-and the room

was suddenly a dull man's idea

of heaven, radiator steam

softening the corners of the ceiling

and the snow-stricken windows. Half asleep in that

cloud

we lay on the davenport, each feeling

the breath of the other on our necks, and not loud,

the music was only the thought of

music, insidious, soothing, and omnipresent-

like our schooldays' conception of God's love

which, for our good, was unrelenting

and could have found us anywhere, even in the

tunnels

waiting, the low note of engines above the Channel.