Wind Over The Earth

By Peter Halstead

The solar bath that washes all
The bodies in its shower stall

Of the grimy earth of cosmic night
With the Liquid Comet of its light

Winds up all of us no less
In the earthy perma press

That irons and immortalizes
As it steams and liquifies us,

Preserving with its tepid sprinkles
All our tangled coils and wrinkles,

As if the breezes of the planets mean
To make each summer day come clean,

Bathing in the tropic prisms
Of electromagnetisms,

And celebrate in the branches when
We come unwashed to bathe again.