decisions come in bathtubs
and a hotel door. the off-white egg
of no longer there, soaped
with a curtain still clothed
and a knobbish still hanged. knees
swanning as pegs, as showerhead
in the sauna sweet egg of a bisque.
I proved foreign, just as yolk and off-white.
I was patron no more, no door
or hotel, no red bean gore
to embryo. No more forgives
in my mooncake head.
Enough bathhouse, enough kiln,
enough baking through the weakening
bowl of a daughter. Enough
waterworks, gone ovum soft.
Enough, the hollow drought