The gray of the morning 
Creeps in the room like fear. 
It is growing lighter,
But I sit crouched and shivering. 

I dare not look at the bed,
Lest I laugh --
Or curse God. 

How does it happen? 
Yesterday my wife, 
And now -- a strange thing -- 
Anything -- nothing. 
A body without breath, 
Arms without warmth, 
Lips without kisses. 

'Eve' was her name, 
And the strangest part is 
That I want to call -- 'Eve, 
Come and look at this thing 
That lies on your bed 
And looks so like you.'