Bathing

Take in the kitsch candy colours

of the Blue Lagoon,

limpid aqua pools, backlit,

like pictures of Jesus or Elvis,

frilly lime algae floats, languid,

gazing up at a pastel sky,

the perfect postcard framed by lava,

liquorice black against the snow.

Inside the Nordic building,

take a ring-side seat,

smooth-skinned honeymooners,

buffed and toned to

reproductive perfection,

soak in soft-focus bliss

behind a film of steam.

At the quiet end of Reykjavik

strip in the municipal changing rooms

scrub under scalding showers

with the others -

slack breasts, scars, flab, folds -

the many varieties of body gather

together, in the biting cold

to share the delight of outside bathing

in water warmed by the earth,

a gentle plash, takes us back

to our first baths, and surrender,

back further, to our first beginnings,

we slide in and recognise

that undercurrent of longing

to return to warm water.