For Ranse

Every time she is touched
By the restless forces-
Something within which is dark
And is enclosed in a outer shell
Brilliant,seemingly made of the Light

He must be Bacchus-of-the-mountain
And Byron-of-the-mountain
He must die young
And live in the utmost futility
He must move her
With slight secret smiles
And his eyes winking like
Extinguished stars behind
His fine veil of hair

The wanderer, he held her still
With his night dark eyes
First, everything was black,
Then Stars were hastily drawn in
But the stars didn't stop to notice
They were only a human's conception.

Now he Takes a slight reprieve
From the mundane motions
Of stumbling down the back roads
To think about she who
Disappeared behind the backbone
Of mountains once or twice

For once, it need not go unrequited;
She shares your restlessness, wanderer
All of it, she has swallowed down
It burns in her belly like a sun.
Live, Molten, Smoldering