Flames burn brightest in darkness,
volcanic truths that sing the end of days.
I would write you other than this
handful of platitudes, let your ash
be breath-ed into ember, your sparks scattered
across the midnight sky to bear forth
the sun and other fierce stars.
But I am no god,
and heaven is hot to the touch. There is pain
in the burning.
is like nightmare, a woman
with a fiery sword whose heart smolders
until the seas are made new.