Cul-De-Sac Sound Bath

By Kurt Peloquin, inspired by an enchanted evening at https://www.instagram.com/culdesac.culdesac/

Sauna in the City
 Christine’s shruti box and Sam’s bowls 
     flash me back to my childhood bike-track
         atop Maple Moor Lane:
            my timid first kiss,
                rock meets metal bat near miss.

                    Saraswati

           Every axis craves an arm
        to see the edges spiral back to their source.
    Turn into your father;
before long, your daughter’s first scar.

    Forewarned, the healer’s song 
        sounds like heart-breaking—
            ocean waves on your lawn,
                summer days and fireworks, and you're gone.

            Chasing all your wants—
        “What do you need?” she asks us,
    as teeth chatter in the stretched skin of her ocean drum.
A nearby drill and a tired son,
    birds in the Willow,
        and all we’ve done.

            She traces golden twine from dry dirt
                to the window of sky—up my spine—
            and says, “Hum along.”

        And I meet her in the cul-de-sac
    to make our pact true:
the further we went,
the less that we knew.