Wet and nude like a fish, she lies back;
the curve of her spine sings Alive, Alive-o!
With the lips of your eyes you kiss her soft hip,
her thigh, her plump calf, each half-painted toe
_              _ like a magnet drawing you into love.

Is this the woman who turned the heads
of old men in Troy? Achilleus’s prize
Agamemnon stole? Velasquez’s friend
Who, in exchange for immortality,
_              _ slept with the artist every night?

Look! A boy has captured her face
in his mirror. There, three figures meet.
Time flows like water over soft gray silk.
Space fills with her breasts. In the blue distance
_                _dawn breaks in the perfect sky.