Baptism

Baptism
I sprint on tiptoes across frigid tile
hop in with a splash.
Heat overwhelms,
tingling my chilled body.
Scalding water entombs me,
the only way to thaw my blood
on these cold, damp days.

 

Tiny candle flames
cradle this sacred time,
celebrate this indoor warmth
while cars slide down icy streets
and pedestrians shiver up sidewalks.

 

Vapor slinks off my goosebumps,
rising into dim lighting
like spirits ascending—
exiting the chaos of my day,
evaporating into the tranquility of my evening.

 

I close my eyes,
imagine myself in another time,
another place,
the Highlands of Scotland, 14th century,
bathing in a natural spring,
flesh bold in crisp mountain air,
moonlight exposing earth’s perspiration,
steamy ribbons undulating toward the stars.

 

In this fantasy
I am goddess,
I am complete.
I fill the pool,
the pool fills me,
amniotic fluid flowing
between earth’s body and mine.

 

I swallow the moon,
the moon swallows me,
eternal nourishment sating us both.
I release my joy into the lonely hills,
taste its sweet echo.

 

The ecstasy lingers
as I return to mortality
in my white, porcelain tub,
divinity flickering within me.

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