In your rhythmic March
I watch you walk
With then against
The pull of the pre-dawn wind
And I wonder whether you feel
It is worth it
What consumes you
Now is cold, this Day
If the glass and girders
Keep you for a time
Then afterwards, what else
Claim what will count
Would that comes always
Always and ever
The consuming fire
And you brandish a flame
In your rhythmic March
It does seem that part of what I hold
Is colorless
All the rest though
Fire and blue
Remember?
And though there’s the brassy trumpet doing its best
I only feel the resonance
From a violin
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
LisaRosier.com 