Archive
09/23/09 - (1)
Water and Fire
By nine, the sun's furiously spitting acetylene-torch tip (Burning an invisible fissure into the pristine sky, From below its initial tree-line incision, Along Lake Superior's southern shore, To high over the Apostle Islands archipelago)
Has left a dazzlingly faceted cascade of brilliance, In a controlled, molten flow of yellow heat, Across Chequamegon's north channel, From Madeline Island to Bayfield, Above whose bustle I've stayed the night, at peace.
Now, unable to keep a bead on the torch's light-source, I gaze upon the gash it's cut across the bay's expanse And marvel at how such paradoxes as this can exist — That water and fire need each other, to breathe, As much as I need them, to water and fire my being.
09/23/09 - (1)
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