Requested

By | 15 July 2009

The bath opens a blue glass page-
all night we drift, gazing at hard water,
splinters of light,
the moon its own decoration.

In this swimsuit season
skin fashions an easy audience,
teasing out the noise of men.

Mark the hours, record
the performance:
it is too late to ask questions-

breathe, patiently, into the body,
the hot stone. Sleep in it.

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