Talking in bed ought to be easiest, Lying together there goes back so far, An emblem of two people being honest.

Yet more and more time passes silently. Outside, the wind's incomplete unrest Builds and disperses clouds in the sky,

And dark towns heap up on the horizon. None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why At this unique distance from isolation

It becomes still more difficult to find Words at once true and kind, Or not untrue and not unkind