Alit to those first breaths, born of coil’d Truth—
That force of spirit ardent, broke, becalmed;
Our heavy heart cinders deeply with youth,
And the touch of flame takes hold of a palmed
Hope, bright and fierce upon our wary hands.
God’s firestorm tenders amidst full light,
As plumed heat seizes our sights to old lands!
I die, clean with this long prayer’s crashing night.
This warmth given, oh, by your tinctured words
In brilliant kilns, wakes this loving wisp free—
Pierc’d forward to that divinity of birds
Caught as bellowing thunder perched to flee…
This dry destruction holds me chaste to you—
The way that angels look at stars so few!
Rejoice, relive those radiant warm winds
That scour the contours of your cordial spark.
Be still as lawful, frenzied fortune finds
Hope strong—amassed, alit to its sweet mark.
Breathe free, set solace skyward, deepest Love—
For your fire kills all want of sorrow dark.
To the stars, those orbs, living far above,
Your warmth touches them as a holy arc…
The heavens come in tune to your soft grace,
And I am in awe of your limber flight—
That beauty is the light upon your face.
Now, gentle you go into that good night!
You are the ‘gale that sings the sweetest truth,
And I am all yours in this wedded youth!