A Man of Flame
He was a body in flames,
like all that walk, fly or crawl
his body was a hive
for both death and life.
His skull was ancient
the bone of it, was a small hill
at the root of the Himalayas.
The child was conceived
under a broken wing,
one created by the tainted purity
of all damning prophesies.
The child was taken
to a sanctuary city,
a place where imagination
was mummified,
a place where heaven
was stored in clay jars.
His lamp was lit, yet it did not burn,
flame took his flesh
until he could be seen by the blind.
Homeless he was,
yet he sheltered from the elements
becoming them, acknowledging
the truth of them.
No person can live longer
than his last memory -
he did,
that is why we light candles
in honor of his continued arrival
in every womb.
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