lying in the bath

lying in the bath, my head, against the wall, turned to the left,

I watch the orange tip of the wick of a lit candle

turn black with each breath, from the middle outward,

before blowing it completely out.

I sit up and blow out the candles

in the other three corners, remaining like that,

upright in the bath, for several minutes

before pulling the plug and getting up to dry off.

during this time, in the semidarkness, I become

more keenly aware of the sounds around me―

the ratchetting techno music emanating from the garage

where dave is finally putting in the eyes

on the face in his painting; the red house painters

playing on the living room stereo; and, also in the living room,

cayman playing guitar―, the moment and everything in it,

life’s loophole and most beautiful gift, the ever open door.

and suddenly, with clarity, I see why people forget things,

break little promises to their friends

break big promises to themselves.