He lies there naked, sprawled as if just hit by a bus.
Sweaty, slick and shiny. Unmoving.
I see his chest move. No need to call the medic.
His head nods. Perhaps he has acknowledged
My entry into his world.
There is no awareness in the sauna.
Neither inward nor outward.
Neither of the heat nor the vulnerability.
There is no caring in the sauna.
Neither of today’s nor tomorrow’s worries.
Neither of the stolen towel nor pilfered locker.
He lies there naked, tossed onto the beach by the surf.
There is no self-awareness in the sauna.