Summoned by conscious recollection, she will be smiling. They could be in a kitchen talking, before or after dinner. But they are in this other room, stillness felt except for the rising and falling of her chest. Embracing he holds her tightly. She buries her face into his body. Morning, maybe it's evening, light flows through the room. Outside the day is slowly succeeded by night, succeeded by day. The light in the room does not change. So they rub against each other, their mouths dry, then wet, then dry. They feel themselves at the center of a powerful and baffled will. They feel they are an almost animal, washed up on the shore of a world, or huddled against the gate of a garden, to which they admit they cannot be admitted.