But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

And as I enter the naked woman eyes me sharply
Our roles set, she resumes reading
Posing questions of delicate yet deadly violence

Resisting sensual or spiritual answers but selling well enough

It begins to rain.

(Poetry from the Financial Times:

"Painted bronze sculptures of a female figure mounted on plinth...
while a live, nude model wanders in their midst.")