Tepid Waters

Dark crinkles of a curtain skirt my thoughts
bumped in waves of my floating realm
the soft lapping at each curve of me
beyond myself I cannot see
so surrounded by silence dim and low
I dare not lift my weary wet head.

Dark in folds of carved out corners
my mind in smooth circling spins
one hollowed nothing to one more
whispered, hoarse, raggedly sore
where to wander from this template
where to go, no longing in wonder.