Lying in my bath tub with water—tinged blue
Under bent limbs. Reflected image across
Clear see-through, mirroring future dislocation.
Bright dazzle of light bulb in chromium spout
Between curious images—tap reflections?
Scylla perhaps, and Charybdis of the drain plug—
Draw me down dark whirlpool to the ground
At the sea's bottom blank with sand, where the rocks
Groan terribly in the turbulence of the inner sea—
And my mind focuses on the pinpoint of light
For rescue, as the wine dark waters calm again,
But with an underswell of panic—Is that me?
That headless, half floating body, one white breast
Above the water, like my distorted childhood memory
Of Stromboli—Pointed out to me by my father
Through the half lapped over with water
Porthole in the ship's side.
White tiles in tidy sequent squares
Steady the mind, as this body—mine?
Rises dripping, ready for the towel—Oh! Angels
Be ready with white towels when I need you,
Rising naked from my death—Replace my head,
And take my face in your hands for comfort.