FIRE CHILD

Fire child, you are green and falling with comets in your stratosphere and in your longing.

Fire child, you are raining meteorites and numbers and crowning supernovas from space so ancient that light has no time.

Fire child, you are hunger, roaring and pouring in brilliant splashes, too deep for wishing.

Fire child, you are a tree in space that grows where gravity has no meaning, and weightless leaves are weighed down with space-frosted pears.

Fire child, you sleep outside black holes and stir the galaxies like a woman stirs a box of jewelry, putting on chains of stars as sweet as bonbons.

Fire child, you live beyond sound and sadness and singing and pain.