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.
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