The fire burns as I sit in flames
hammering out the next word.
Smoke fills my eyes and brain
as conversations fly high like a
blue headed Monarch poking its
beak into the ground for seeds or
a misplaced worm. The fire never
ends but burns constantly, the rage
becomes too hot causing art and
the fragrance of a rose to burn into
black ashes. There is a method to
dealing with flame like capturing
it in the base of a candle.
Then comes the ice which is cut into
cubes or flattens into the height of
great rivers. Ice that will burn you
like a flame or cut into you like a
razor. Ice that leaves you cold and
in want of a health and love. It will
mark you under a cold, broken dream
where there is no advice only to hide
from it and find the warmth.
Fire and Ice