(This thing goes on its own.)
I watch the flames growing —
gentling their way into existence,
in the fire place,
like watching water
come to a boil.
(I feel you coming closer like
this, even when you’re
far away, even now,—
even as we sleep the heavy
slumber of lovers now
together, —after lifetimes)
Inching across the log ridge,
like a blind man
on a log bridge,—
And then suddenly,—
here you are,—
blazing forth afire
that needs no coaxing,—
no more fuel required, —
like perpetual motion
or turning over an engine,—
it spontaneously becomes
its own generative source
of wordless knowing, —
knowing beyond doubt that is
full of fragile suchness, —
and glowing light,
and primordial heat.
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