Evening Shower in Post-Byzantine
For Jill
There’s a kind of music that
plays when the warm water
runs down her hair to her
lower back and thighs.
The open lotus hums rich,
subtle, and sweet.
Dream nets echo
with tides and sighs
to rhythms of the
glowing sky.
She turns her head and smiles.
I stare at the shining landscape:
seagulls, pelicans, shea butter,
and vanilla. We laugh together
in the backdrop of turquoise
and soap suds, fingers dance
to our song. Rising hills, slopes,
a pasture where we meet and learn
about light in the geometric mandala.
Somewhere, between our
breaths, a shrine where
we wake up off the
coast of the Black Sea,
dry our damp feet
and call this home.
