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, 14^th 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.