Clothed from on high

The shape of a woman
overshadows me,
a crystal outline
lifting out of the mud.
Clear, silent, still.
Holy?

As she clothes me
with herself,
melting to conform to my shape,
I think,
This is me!

I look at my hands
as if for the first time,
turn them over,
closing and opening them.
Warm, they tingle.
Are they part of me?
Have they always been part of me?
I gaze around the
strange, familiar room.
It makes me dizzy,
as if I've had
a little too much wine.

I report all this to G.
She is like my skin, I say.
It's like I am feeling 
for the first time.
Is this the original self?

Bless her, says G.
She is your essence, soul, spirit.

When our time is up
still awed and disoriented
I leave the room
to rejoin my husband.

I am overwhelmed
with love for him,
as if seeing him
for the first time.

(August 11, 2012 #3)