How strong you are—sinking
into the plush room of your resolve,
a cozy boudoir—to love while on fire,
in the face of rearranging all your remains
into ash letters. How can you
walk on coals and swallow embers
without remembering you are
summer’s child—a heat seeker,
a sun drinker, now melting in a cold
embrace. How like water—the fluidity
to freeze, boil, evaporate into
whispers patient as wallpaper.
What a ghost you are—observing,
listening close for the chance to throw
your voice against hope, as a flame
knowing it dies with the candle.