I
The flame did not murder the king;
but,
it did set it into action.

II
Reaching
as tall as twice
my height, flames flew 
out of cardboard constricted
existence

III
The heat on your face as fire flickers
on embers openly
burning themselves out
with fervor–
this is what it is like to be kissed
by a flame.

IV
My aunt, burning brush,
in familial memory, got got
by gasoline
and flames licked
much of her skin.
I still stare at scars from skin grafts
sometimes.
What wounds are still there?

V
The contours of the flames,
exquisite silhouettes,
dance the runway of my eyes
before flickering out
of being.

VI
A flame
and its heat
are not the same.