Fire

Panting, laughing, breaths in and

interrupted by chasing stairs to

the sunset, square screens of bright

blue light thrust reckless

ahead of us, pupils stretching
pink and blue to hold the sky,

sentences joy with gurgling,

we poked our elbows through

bars in place of panes,

and quiet like glass we

watched the sun cut through

the sky like knives or tigers’ fur–

orange, the rest purple.

Experience elluding, earnestly, our screens,

our eyes, in disbelief shone shy

like the mist, rolling in like time,

softer, wider, lighter

than we, the clouds to our left,

which wafted in gray brushstrokes

on stacked blue planes and silent

to our back blackness

in degrees of blue and green,

but we, turned, greedy toward

Sun, let Sun dissolve like magic
does, in age, close. Like death,

our souls burst through our

elbowed shelves, near-broken
spraying forth. Sun against

undeniable purpleness of clouds.

The useless glassbound light of things

pressed against our thighs, silent

light abdicating light

bodies caught between
bars, between light seen,

caught and shining hungry forth,
the soul, glass, breath, sun, color,
conduits and lost,

like glass broken out of panes

at the top of the tower named

Sun on Earth and fallen down

unheard like dew to ground, where we,

too, climbed and it and us

dissolved in descent but thick,
feet no more than dust in dust,

all distance lost.