Is it the fires you seek?
the flame angel
whole with exploding womb
pale crypt listening to puerile tide
the sweet not given but taken
trembling between waves
raging penitent of wan faces
wrinkled, deceived, mortal?
Such fires adhere. The flame white.
blessed taint with an endless fuel
The weir gaping cold
the animal shy in the blazing sun
the fire that touches nothing
yet consumes
destroys the costumes
a pearlescent agony
all that remains---
not I in glad shroud a last time
but half fire flumed and shaped
as to make of years a soft marrow
still retaining a lingering heat
pale in the sullen glow, if it remains so
that which the heated angel kissed
and so you should
with frail hand
reach
and allow my blood to flow.
Gold trophy winner
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