Posts Tagged ‘fire’

Beyond Touch

And if a cheek should find a chest,

and if a tongue should graze a lip,

and if a hand should meet a curve,

and if a hip should stir a hip,

then we might know the flesh as kindling,

know the skin as eager spark,

know the lover as the flame

that helps unthaw the frozen dark.

But if a heart should stoke a heart,

and if a soul should fuel a soul,

then we might know the self as unself—

ravaged, ardent, blazing, whole.

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But No Hiding

It is the job

of the wildfire

to crave ignition,

to seek more fuel,

to turn at the whim

of the wind.

The wildfire’s job

is to burn

whatever it meets,

to incite it to flame,

to not care what it chars

how it ashes.

I want to not see it

as it leaps and claims,

want to not smell it

as it fills my lungs,

becomes me,

want to not notice

the part of me

ready to burn.

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Too Close to the Light



Just for a moment

my hair was on fire

and just for a moment

orange flames

rose from me

and just for a moment

I knew what it was

to be candle—

even now I can see it

beside my face,

how before I was afraid

I thought, how beautiful.



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on the wall of flame

after all these years

still trying to hang a portrait


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One Combustible



wearing my best

white paper gloves

to play with fire

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One Brevity




all its life

it never knew

it could be so bright—

this log just before

it’s ash

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A Passing Truce




Beside the fire, inside

the dark, and lost amidst

the tide of thoughts,

there is a momentary warmth

that steeps into our every inch

and make us doubt

that we could ever feel

sharp cold again—

the mind, thus warmed,

forgets to quarrel and simply

nestles closer—and the dark itself

comes nearer by and we

lean in together.

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Black Out



A blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it.

            —Marcus Aurelius



Let me be fire.

Let everything

ignite me.

Let the whole world

be kindling.

I’ll take all fuel.

Let me flash.

Let me flare.

Let me make brightness.

Give me the dark.

Let me blaze there.

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Praise the tree as we throw

its branches into the fire,

the needles once green

now brilliant, now ash,

and praise the flames

that consume. Praise

the small hands that

toss the old boughs

and the squeals as the blaze

blazes higher. Praise

the empty space

in the room where all

we see is absence

of tree. Praise the darkness—

that canvas for light

that invites us

to find in ourselves

something to burn.

It’s a cold world.

What are we willing

to offer?

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In seasons of cold

when we can no longer

pretend it is warm,

when we can find

no fire to gather around,

it is then we notice

the invitation

not just to rise up

but to move

through the cold

and to find

in our own momentum

that inner fire,

a fire that outside forces

can never extinguish—


and though the darkness grows

in this season,

we grow, too,

our fires burning hotter,

more brightly,

the harder,

the stronger we go.

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