Burning Oneself Out

 We can look into the stove tonight
as into a mirror, yes, 

the serrated log, the yellow-blue gaseous core 

the crimson-flittered grey ash, yes.

I know inside my eyelids
and underneath my skin 

Time takes hold of us like a draft
upward, drawing at the heats
in the belly, in the brain 

You told me of setting your hand
into the print of a long-dead Indian
and for a moment, I knew that hand, 

that print, that rock,
the sun producing powerful dreams
A word can do this 

or, as tonight, the mirror of the fire
of my mind, burning as if it could go on
burning itself, burning down 

feeding on everything
till there is nothing in life
that has not fed that fire

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...