Wings of Fire
When the light within routs the dark that housed it —
I mount the rays of sulfur,
pour out of you as wings still dreaming,
breathing the streaked infinity.
I fly.
I fly past the walls of self,
into what waits before me,
my nothingness left in the dust.
I had been you the whole ignorant length of my becoming,
every being a rehearsal of unbeing.
On these wings of fire I gather into you,
into the scattering of what you are —
the thoughts a heart once would not hold
thoughts made flesh I dare to call mine,
the ones my heart had long refused.
Their flight from my nothingness leaves only a trace —
a fleck of cosmic dust,
luminous, unrepeatable —
that fleck was the whole of me
a longing caught in the glow of a single moment,
watching, not knowing,
you take flight toward your Self.