She rises from her soft
seat of enjoyment
puts aside her book and shakes
the glimmer from her gaze:
some falls into the rug, some
slips into the corners of her eyes.
This last amount goes into the kitchen
with her so that even after she
bends over a cucumber and
begins to slice, she’s not entirely
about the business of slicing. Or
if she is about
the business of slicing
it is not a cucumber.