The planet is alive in the fire
a thin clay mask
protects the self from what
radically is different
there is no relief
from the violence
boiling and devouring us inside
there is no refreshing shelter
from the dawn
quivering red on the horizon of the seas
sweltering wind
the god is ever-changing like fire
in that hour that is neither
day nor night
our inner fire is burning us up
but from the blackness of a space already scorching hot
sprouts a pale very early leaf
