Poem: The Bath by John Predmore, S.J.

Streaming.
Soothing.
Sinking.
As water flows,
all else slows.
Steam and bubbles rise
as I immerse my weariness.
Movements quell
as I slip away
forever still
in this coffin.
Arms folded on chest,
Submerged for eternal rest,
and I drift away.
Deep, penetrating unconsciousness,
thinking only of what was
and I sleep
with stopped breath,
hearing the deaf inner rhythm,
lifeless,
pulse less,
the faintest of heartbeat slowed
…
Then I rise,
Ever afresh,
To greet the clear, crisp air.