A Fire at Night
A man should kindle once a year
A fire after dark and peer
Across this little world of light
Into the faces of the night.
On such a night of sparks and gust
He reads the Apocalypse of dust,
Knows, without his brain to guide him,
The emptiness and fear inside him,
The loneliness and bitter plight
Of a creature fed on light
Which must burn out. He hears the tread
Of vast feet above his head
Where the future and the dark
Lean above his dying spark.
And as he tends the tender shoots
Of fire, he can feel the roots
That grow from him and reach out far
Till their tendrils clutch a star.
He feels the safety of the sky
Curved about him cold and high,
He comprehends eternal life
Keen before him, like a knife
Between him and the silence going
Beyond the reach
of any knowing.
By the gulf that has no name.
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