flesh

I step

onto

the bath mat,

feel each

naked toe

press its

own way

in.

Today,

I am

entirely

too aware

of

me:

the

space

my body

takes,

the air

breathing

around it,

a faint

body shadow

tracking

every move.

Breath comes

too loudly,

interrupts

sanctity of silence.

Bodies are

strange,

holy things,

soft animals

too easy

to bruise.

My fingers

are not

my own—

flesh is too

earthly for

the thoughts

pouring

out of me:

deep,

pure,

silver,

wonderings—

I am too

much

body,

not enough

soul.