Burning in the bitterness of wonder of soiled embers scattered,
Scorned by the burn at its inception in tired darkness, when the lure
Squirmed, when joy sprang through the hours, called to the clock
Skipping along past seconds sheared from grasping hearts worn dim
By nothing less than an outed, 'no never', and, 'is everything OK?'
Gripping flames resistant to desire, not memories imprinted by the
Beginning, where hours were moments, longing was untouched by
Truth-- a by-word in the talk of faith on the horizon visible from my
Seat-- the fragile vessel spurned in times when fear paralyzes all
Triumphant, razing to scorched roots another abandoned Temple
Filled with idols piercing every tear of smoldering tissue blazing
Raw, quivering in the cooling air, the darkness between growing
Within, faster with every tick that letters cannot hold together as
Words, arrhythmic pulses erupt-- a beacon chorus calls me home.
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