Outside the bus the world sinks deeper:
So far two days and a night of solid rain,
and tonight the streets fill with dark paint; 
the houses and buildings groan
like swimmers reluctant to enter the sea.
The windows of the bus run black
and silver. In the white fluorescent light
each damp face in the rows of faces is fleshy, 
thickened. Inside my grocery bag a loaf
of sweet French bread is sending up
such small fat clouds of scent
I close my eyes with joy.