"Who of us can live with the fire?" - Is. 33

A man tap-toes on a tower

because blue has pulled him there.

A fresh fire breezes through his breast.

The increased heat enlarges his heart.

It floods from his chest,

cracks his ribs for room.

That force from him sends sparks

on those who hate him,

lights them, too.

His simmering rain falls on good shoes,

on those who put on moccasins at midnight.

Molten streams nourish

fields of wheat and weeds.

He always holds high

the heat he has.

Clouds of angels surround his iris.

Their crosshairs are fixed.

His earth receives his heaven.

author: Phil Flott