The same telephone stood black in the broadloom hall,

Silent under the colored-glass window that broke the honey-

And-leather-toned wallpaper. Our heirloom shawl

Hung red there still. A mirror showed me my mouth wry

With suspicion. How many nights this search, how many

At door, corner, stairtop heartbeats, every time a lie?

In the dining-room? Nothing. Child's room? See me walk

And stop, a prisoner proprietor pacing his land.

I turn on a light, and off, I touch faucet, lock,

Bookshelves, but not fingers, not ears tell me. The shock, When it comes, if it comes tonight, the screamed command

To all my nerves, shouted down by the will's No, No,

Has a hundred times before now come. So chills my hand.

Not for my sake so stops my breath. Smoke smells so.