He set the book down Reading in the nude, “White clouds, white stones.” Then when the shadow of her hair the shadow of his wife’s hair the shadow of his wife’s hair brushed across the page bloomed upon his page. spills across the words.

Is it her shadow His wife’s hair’s shadow To touch the fine words or the shadow of the pine spread across the open book as the shadow of her hair that darkens his page? in his hardened lap. spills across his page

Is he holding Proust? Oh, forget the book: On page 56, Will the shadow of her hair The shadow of his wife’s hair the shadow of his wife’s hair— brush across Swann’s Way? brushed his naked thigh. A revelation.

Did he pine for her No shadows, no book— Words will mean nothing as the shadow of the pine just his dull pencil drawing once the shadow of her hair spread across the page? her charcoal-black hair. sweeps across this page