What?
I wait motionless in silence, hearing nothing but the brush of my hair against the pillow fabric and the casual whirr of traffic beyond the window glass.
I expect the Earth to shake.
Or that waters will well up.
Shall fire sweep in with the wind?
Even still, I prize the void.
(Art credit: “Sacred Rectangle” rock formation; Tiger R., age 7)
Fire. My fire, our fire
erases all their despair.
We promise them fire.
I hope this morning
You’ll look far back there, look deep
And think of your Fire
How shall he bid her
Trumpeted Proclamation
To ask for her hand
Please come back on wings.
With fire in your wings. And teach
me all about pitch.
I would likely just watch you a lot
Approach you from time to time, I may
To touch and make certain you’re real
With words and sentiment fully spent
What more need be said
That leaves, fire, and ink have not already uttered
I’ve seen it
How you drive
All the rage
As you venture
To the Lands
All the others
Seem to fearGuts in gear
Sixth sense afire
Eyes on prize
Finger on pulse
Caution to wind
Yes
You’ll do fine
Please place your hands here
But with surety, not rushed
Bring a burning fire
First Day of School, Planet Earth
Read to me from the
book named “Fire.” Let me feel your
voice boom on my back.
Faster than wildfire
would she fly back to you, if
she delights in truth.
LisaRosier.com 