wet like peace
but what’s the warm-up?
odd lots more of same
a fog-free deep
three sharp edges
in this natorium, sunshine
in that natorium, shade
one pool so small in a big hotel
I circled, fish in bowl
after the horror of regular motion,
joy in growing strong
head out, head back
last few, last two
dream of repetition
never the same turn twice
can’t count to eight
I lose my place
Casio countdown timer
midwinter water warmer than my feet
dull conviction blossoming to genuine desire
For years such care for the antique chair!
so smooth and dark that varnish
seemed like substance truer than the wood;
then rocked against the radiator:
carved rose on curved iron.
Now the glue reminds us of the grain.
Egg wash, seeds; perfume and a pat to the hair;
“30” at the bottom of the typescript;
plate licked; stamp licked; file closed; tape
rewinding; door locked; hands
at sides; recorded scores;
a dream of the lost alive