Poetry

Fire – Poem

If it’s fact

that energy

is neither created nor destroyed,

what the hell has happened to me?  I have a history of

lightspeed love, of bursting

into flames at the slightest inkling of connection.

I must be a latent explosive.  I must be

the fixture in the pole at the fire-station, ready,

ready, ready.  If energy is

neither created nor destroyed,

what do you have hidden

in your hands?  What did you put in my mouth that short-wired the order

and distempered the peace?

I must have stolen time, heat, or light

from a place hidden to everyone else: pocketbooks in landfills,

star shadows, the drawings of sleeping children. Where

did I get the vibrating mass of expansion?

From you, from the us

that isn’t us yet.  From the gods.

Call me Prometheus.  Call me Pilgrim.  There was never

a new land to land on.  It was stolen.  I’m

terrified.  I am fucking glowing

in your reflection, and I know,

I know I know the basic laws of physics

involve time as a one directional thing,

and space as a polyglot

from another country.  But I want to see you, again

and again and again.

Don’t make me put this fire out.

If love is neither created nor destroyed, then it was here already.

This is no new land to land on, but maybe, maybe, it’s one we can share.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s