"Our blue star flickers but a tiny spark / Now rends the sky descends to us in fire"

Transcendental Sonnet #1164:
Fire

for Silke

The wind is wailing like a grieving mother
The aching anger of a lonely womb
It howls the hurt of an avenging brother
Who loads his pistol in a lonely room
The sound of separating flesh from bone

As stripped the trees which naked in the cold
Torn from a stale known to a fresh unknown
Are gripped as these my bones tonight are told
By chill for which there is no remedy

Save one thing only that propinquity
Of you and me to kindle in the dark
A flame fueled by our dream by our desire
Our blue star flickers but a tiny spark
Now rends the sky descends to us in fire



+Steven Curtis Lance

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