And she took a bath
and washed her hair
and cleansed her [w]hol[l]y self of that
though 365 memories remain in the dark roots of thousands of her golden strands,
more are silver now
Out into the cold air,
pitch black, save for waxing gibbous Moon
pouring her bathwater into a remnant patch
of snow-covered ground
drain and septic are unfit for this ceremony
Let this vintage
permeate the garden/
recharge the aquifer from which she bathes and drinks/ evaporate into cycles of the atmosphere that she breathes /
breathe, human, woman, breathe
believe this, yet better, know this:
everything is ouroboros.
nothing ever begins.
nothing ever ends.