for Alex Pumfrey
Nothing underneath my bones
feels like my calendar days
clicking like the kitchen clock.
Had my first formal massage tonight,
performed by a master masseur,
my twenty-two-year-old yoga teacher,
fresh from his hippy stage,
dreadlocks replaced by a mohawk
replaced by a smooth, shaved head.
Tattoos intact & piercings
still in place, he takes me as I am.
His lucid skin, his blue eyes compel.
His forearms, elbows, fingers,
palms press into my skin, my skull.
I absorb soothing, lime-scented ointment,
skill of the healer as mind melts,
arms dangle, shoulder blades relax
& I fall into spirit through flesh: namaste.
From Moonman: New and Selected Poems, World Parade Books, 2012