Evening Alone

Last of the strong sun

on white tiles, stack of white towels,

faint piano melody from downstairs,

and the downpour of hot water on my shoulders.

I lift my face to the nozzle, close my eyes

and see mountains folded

over mountains,

smoke rising from a woodcutter’s hut,

and in the distance, billowing pastel clouds.

It must be China I am beholding

on this early summer evening—

the great sway of rivers,

thousands of birds rising on the wing,

the jade and mulberries of China,

plum blossoms—now the cry of a pheasant.

It is a vision that drains me of desire,

and leaves me wanting nothing

but to be here

in this hot steamy room

washing my neck, rubbing my sides,

the soap slithering down the chest and stomach,

eyes still shut as I picture in China

a light boat crossing a lake

and a wooden house on the shore

where a young woman in a tight-fitting silk dress

lifts a cup of cinnamon tea

to her painted, slightly parted lips.