Sunday, August 13, 2006
Holy Fire
Holy Fire
Some love like
packed volcanoes exploding,
ash and fire
spewing over mountains and shores
igniting everything
in their path,
as if all history,
stretched to the edge,
were returning
in a river
of hot remembrance,
a blaze
of flowing passion and grief,
Fields turn into
lakes of flame
devouring air, swallowing sky.
Earth surges in streams of
blood and clay,
and trees are sudden torches,
beacons signaling
distant heaven.
Other loves are like soft candles
that spread their glow
into the curtained corners of the house,
hands of light
soothing the darkness,
caressing the quiet
awake.
Who is to say
which is god?
Dorothy Walters
August 11, 2006
Some love like
packed volcanoes exploding,
ash and fire
spewing over mountains and shores
igniting everything
in their path,
as if all history,
stretched to the edge,
were returning
in a river
of hot remembrance,
a blaze
of flowing passion and grief,
Fields turn into
lakes of flame
devouring air, swallowing sky.
Earth surges in streams of
blood and clay,
and trees are sudden torches,
beacons signaling
distant heaven.
Other loves are like soft candles
that spread their glow
into the curtained corners of the house,
hands of light
soothing the darkness,
caressing the quiet
awake.
Who is to say
which is god?
Dorothy Walters
August 11, 2006
