Posted on Leave a comment

The Bathroom Window

Last year I lay here wondering 
how to move with the water cooling, 
cooling, cooled around me; staring, staring,
staring at those curling, curling twists and turns 

set in the windowpane. There for vanity, 
to hinder prying eyes. Yet still, glaring down at me,
an immutable relief of Hell. Tortured spectres
and aching faces caught in their deepest gloom. 

(Munch, Dali and Caravaggio were in the room!)

Today, as I got out before the water chilled me 
through and through, I glimpsed a view
of those same swirls. Softer now. A happy cat. 
Some smiling eyes with lips unfurled up to the skies.

A candle like a calligraphed I 
ignited by the sun outside, its windless flame 
sweeping full and high. The bathroom window 
never, never changes. As must I. 

Leave a Reply