The Attendants, in white,

come in pairs, sliding aside the door

shifting long white sleeves aside

to lift two white dishes

of pearly porcelain

filled with steaming water

They reach with white fingers

and wash my feet

from toes to heel

The water splashing silently

but echoing like voices

in a cave of shadows

A vision in my waking mind

flashes before my eyes

I am lifted to my feet and I shed

my night skin

and am folded and tucked

into layers of tasseled and gold-threaded

robes

of red, blood red, crimson