Conversation with Therese
We tasted our Linzer tarts,
he telling me: first the body wants earth.
Then, the body wants earth more.

I should have said, I will leave you in two months.
That the next time you pass Balthus’s young neighbor
lounging on his armchair, you will think: Whatever
people call it, this is love. And she, sleeping Therese, 
arching back like a red spindle working green thread,
will turn her head to you and say:
Don’t you know the landscape is three?
The grass, the audible, the pulling back.
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