Time is a mountain lion.

 Naches River. Just below the falls. 

Twenty miles from any town. A day

of dense sunlight

heavy with odors of love.

How long have we?

Already your body, sharpness of Picasso,

is drying in this highland air.

I towel down your back, your hips,

with my undershirt.

Time is a mountain lion.

We laugh at nothing,

and as I touch your breasts

even the ground-

                    squirrels

are dazzled.

 

[Raymond Carver {1938-1988} 'Woman Bathing' from A New Path to the Waterfall]