Words bristle and ignite themselves
Backwards and upside-down before a pen can be found -
Claiming a strange reward in shattering bursts
That flame and die all too soon
To recreate such catastrophe.
I have left Life fall cold a plunging necessity somewhere behind me,
As I retrace its electricity...
Like a weed that triumphs charred ruin,
I suppose Nature springs from me then.
Blowing its brilliance through my lungs
Blazing its secrets forth
Changing colors against the frost
While I capture it thus -
Letting it cool past my fingertips,
Shaping it numb and trimming it to proper form -
And trained to speak.