That night we turned some of them off but left the hall bulb bright, sending one bar of light into the living room, so we could see. Which of course meant they could too --- us impressionist through the thin white drapes as you lowered yourself to me, the curves of a distant landscape opening across your pelvis, your body slick and valleyed in the August heat and your back arching like a bow drawn by an invisible tendon strung from the top of your head to the end of your toes, loading you with our meeting. The night windows opposite performed their Morse codes, side-swipes of curtains, until eventually every one of them went dark and the only light left was a siren's, sending its blue strobe across the rooftops like lightning in the corner of my eyes, somewhere far away yet near, as with a sigh you rose from me and walked into the lit hallway, trailing the dress of your shadow behind you.