In the new town, the water tastes different. Even
The shower leaks, drumming impatiently
Its fingers on the tiles,
Leaving a copper tang in the air, a freshly
Dug grave smell,
Clean as a slab. Toweling down, the body still
Slick from the soap
That just won’t lather, a trickle crawls into
A parted sigh on the lips.
Its bead melts there. Curious, how its potent
Tastes of distance, limestone, whiteness,
And the rain.