COLD THROW

I can come but still I cannot meditate.
Before these months, when I saw a bathtub,
I did not dare lie down inside of it,
knowing I might begin to dream of physical
cloud and epidermis, and come apart
as completely as I had dreamed.
As I had feared. So many sensations.
But you know, I tried this last night,
as I went through my meticulous list of
trying, top to bottom. I lit the expensive
candle on the windowsill naked in
my bathroom and admired the stained
marble, and thought of all the things
I was afraid to forget, but could not
know them, nor find reason, and when
in the morning my mother came in
exclaiming she smelled the candle,
I said I did not. For this is how,
whatever is apparent to you I do not see.
While the white scented body of wax
was slow waning there was no pleasant
smell, or any smell at all, only
the self in the throat, slowly diminishing.