I am
a red clay pot
that you
have set down
into the fire.
with your
I crack
and split
to become
a thousand
hot shards.

Quiet man,
with your
red beard
and ruddy skin,
you have
made me into
the bluest part
of a flame,
so that
I writhe
and tremble
in the hot
breath of wind
that is
your mouth,
and rooted down
where the stems
of my body

Like a match
thrown to pines
in the driest season,
I burn
with a fury
I have
never known,
until my whole heart
has gone to
ash and red embers,
in the palms
of your two
tender hands.

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byrosilindjune© 2 comments/ 1756 views/ 1 favorites

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