Marilyn Zelke-Windau       

 

Hum

peel back gently
the fragile packaging of the soul
blanket the ooze with your warm hands
hum the infinite tune

 

 

Evenings

Those last hours
when you douse your face,
your hands,
with the last waters,
the last baptism of the day,
washing clean,
sanctifying night,
the dark hours,
the death hours
in hopes of awakening
to a new blessing of light.
Ah, ritual,
and its calming influence!
Ah, repetition, all these days.
Life is nothing
but a fond, burnished continuum.