Friday Poem

The pads of my fingers run in rhythmic circles
over each contour of my face.
Thoughts of the day are summarized behind my closed eyes
and the water coming forth is the only sound I hear.

Rinsing removes the debris from my face
and I stand and I stare, analyzing the face before me.
Amid the imperfections, the beauty I am beginning to embrace
Stares back at me.