Morning Bath

The bath receives me the bath concedes

The bath fares well as clothing I sit still in

The bath water the bath water includes me

The speckles of bath water stipulate 

a weave of the body and the upstart heart

I leave the body to my mind 

how many homonyms form wovenness

How many days is the body how many overtones 

arrest the flow of diminution

How many facts of life become life 

The bath receives me in its arms

The hot bath differs from"Stairway to Heaven" playing on the radio 

How many overtones underlie the caresses I imagine now

How many syllables come true

I wish the bath were always true syllabically 

How many frosts have been missed are woven categories prompt

Are icicles undamaged is there time in the envelope of schedule

To welcome me home how many somethings learn to gel

Nothing average about morning nothing 

Silvered pressure washed

Nothing fresh yet in erasure 

How many mornings constitute an aftermath

I invent my cleanliness I invite shrill recompense I take nothing in vain

I take my name into my confidence

I repair regrets with fluency

All the barbs now softened

All the hairpin turns achieved left out of recollection in the rain

The elbow room pitted in prayer with implications 

How many frostings lift away from surfaces

The bath is everything a fling into intelligent elbow room

And when I close my eyes I have opened them again to 

Tasting the gift of present tense arriving down the peat moss 

becoming gelatin of wholesale affection 

Deeper than the yard the lake the everlasting bait made glittery 

made stable in the yard of glaze paved runways 

the mind lifts off away from only to return to wholeness 

its own holiness keeping what is known embedded 

where are we in the bath the aftermath