Do you know how many times I have relived that story?
My cyclic bath was run scalding and left with its' private elements to
infuse with the air, the heat with the cool, a time of sacred poise.
How many times have I relieved this story? A story with you.
This life of mine. The steam curls. Sandalwood and lavender
tenderly anoint the inside of my nose, eager to oil my body.
A temporary slick skimming the porcelain tub, skin rejuvenating,
capturing another experience, brilliance in the cataclysmic.
The child inside became the birth, three lives continue life,
unfolding flower of earth, one night and ten thousand sunrises.
The death of love, loved ones, intimate love, safe homes,
and tended hurt as gardens grow, raised in the faith of love--
one birth, one middle and an end. Fire's destruction reconstructs.
Laughter caught inside the madness of time, life found inside
the space of a pipe organ. The warm reverberations of
a foot testing the waters in hopes it is time to get in. A heartbeat
lives consistently inside of a windchest, temperance of an era.