the lady
is ready
for her bath

her toes
are curling
she's hungry,
she's getting
the feeling
she's healing

she wanted
the bathers
to stay
for much longer

but now
the garden
the front porch
the bathhouse
are empty
and white

her body
so softly
becoming
so wide

she turns into
buildings
and bushes
and tide

the lady
does not want to
get her hair wet
she has it
well hidden-
the back of her neck

her eyes
her insides
are mending
and bending

and she cannot
breathe cause
the water
is deep
and in it
she has gotten
both of her feet

she's locked in
the bathhouse
with the
slimy ghost forms

she's fading
she's fainting
the voices of men
of women
of lovers
of ghostly omens

the lady
is ready
to get away from
the body
the dirt
the slippery foam

she walks out
on quiet steps
she crosses
the door

she now is
an image
of stillness
of grace

she's an unfinished
painting
can never
be framed

she lives in
a memory
of quieter times

the lady
who got wet
both of her feet

the lady
who's drowning
alone in her sleep




[texto que ainda não tinha postado no blog, de 29 de agosto de 2007]