Of All The Elements
Of all the elements, I'd wager pounds
against pennies our love is fire. Not for
ferocious capacity to burn (though
it may scorch), nor for consuming that on
which it feeds, nor even disdain for bounds
and fetters (though these it might profess and more).
Not these sundries mirrors it to flame, no:
more the quality of endless stillness
mixed with eternal action, mutable
to the infinite degree while ever
unmistakable as what it is. Gone
of context, still a type. Futile to sever,
witness to dancing eyes, inscrutable,
and like as any balm to stop our illness.
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