the point of light,
What flares up, though, disappears,
the fire no more a fire than
the one blown by a boy’s
little men on ladders
packing it in,
smiles all around
Yes it made sense: you made sense of it.
You slept with and solved every problem,
etching equations in glass verified
by daylight and the empty space beside you.
The night was your cloudy mind projected –
against it you appointed pointless sticks
to a pointless fire –
your altar to you, but you did it because
I’m on fire and swimming in a pool.
I’m swimming underwater and still on fire.
But nothing burns