The Two Showers Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

I stretch
my limbs out
in my garden
rocker

opening its
gray-brown
wings
of brushing
feathers

in the breeze
to fly me
to an island
of me,

as I lie
in the expanding
rolling garden,

my ears sipping
insect
and bird notes

for a musical
composition,

a climbing alto
flapping
loud wings
on my shoulders,

as I sail
in air's alabaster
ship flipping
out daisy sails

on a green
undulating deck
of lime flowers,

and fly through
a forest green stretch
and
the shamrock
corridor
of a drifting garden,

my eyes
the only sailor
and pilot

across a seafoam
and mint stretch
of the garden.

(ii)

But more than
a flight
to feed eyes
with flowers of life,

I turn on
a hidden tap
of sun
to shower me

from head
through my graphite
body
to taupe
fidgety toes

with silver
and cream rays
that scrub
me into
a scorched

and bleached piece
of stone,
a heavy slab,

as I carry
and drag myself
into
a shadier nook

under lace
and cotton
showers
of wind-waved
petals

of orchids
tumbling
and spreading

on me
in silver drops
and splashes,

as I'm
garlanded
with
specks and speckles

from feathery
shreds of rainbow
birdy flowers.

And I crawl
off, glazed
with soft cream
rays
of a settling sun,

after a full
dose of a paced
ablution.