Le Bal a Bougival by Renoir Is she more noticeable in his arms, or more forgotten? We do not see his eyes beneath his straw hat,         but we know they burn. The red trim on her white dress excites him, his hand wants to slide from its grasp on her waist. They are hardly moving but their steps are powerful, he leads her even as they stand still. All the while she watches the watchers, knowing they are seen as lovers, as invisible as a couple, but worth a few stares. He is my sister's husband, she is laughing over there beneath the trees, and does not suspect us as the others do, strangers throwing us a strange eye. We are full of cold beer, caught up in the dance, and the way he holds me I am staggering. My left arm thrown over his neck leaves my right side open. This is something he knows well, not to press too hard or smother, but to leave part of the body untended, waiting.         — Sharon Olson             Clouds Brushed In Later (1987), p. 14

Pierre Auguste Renoir Dance at Bougival (1883) Museum of Fine Arts, Boston