THE STEAMBATH
Steam fills the bath, and frozen figures on the wall
open their eyes, wet and round, Narcissus eyes
that see enormous distances, and new ears
that love the details of any story. The figures dance
like friends diving and coming up and diving again.
Steam spills into the courtyard. It's the noise
of resurrection! They move from one corner
laughing across to the opposite corner. No one notices
how steam opens the rose of each mind,
fills every beggar's cup with solid coins.
Hold out a basket. It fills up so well
that emptiness becomes what you want.
The judge and the accused forget the sentencing.
Someone stands up to speak, and the wood of the table
becomes holy. The tavern in that second is actually made
of wine. The dead drink it in.
Then the steam evaporates.
Figures sink back into the wall, eyes blank,
ears just lines.
Now it's happening again, outside.
The garden fills with bird and leaf sounds.
We stand in the wake of chattering and grow airy.
How can anyone say what happens, even if each of us
dips a pen a hundred million times into ink?
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