An Ode to Peder B. Helland

In high vaulted walls,

the steam does curl 

and in another world,

I lie submerged


The delicate brush 

of velvet warmth

against my flesh

does soothe me. 


From the light of my music

the water is as glass,

but retains itself 

the softest touch. 


When I step

out of this new womb

I am thus twice born glossy.


This poem is about: 


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