Bonfire
Staring into a pool of ash
I wonder where’s the fire
Pale tongues breaking in folds
whispering the warmth that was
Now the fire returns
but far off—east
crawling up some corner of the Earth
his belabored breathing
causing me to sweat
The ash blows away
fleeing, suppose, that far off fire
sick of lying beneath the weight of such
gloriously passionate flame
Meanwhile, transfixed stare I
wishing it would consume me
that I’d, as the pilgrim
into that life o life’s yon rose multifoliate
melt and transpire to the dust of my founding
The wasteland is heavy on my breast
and the creeping necessity of a hotter lamp
to scorch this sweet Earth yet deeper
to show the emeralds beneath her scars
Oh what a beautiful poem
I really love this one, though it reminds me of something bitter — that is, the burnout I felt at the end of the school year. Even now, I flinch from self-exertion. My body has grown accustomed to keeping itself from the fire, even when it’s cold.