Leave me first that kiss of fever. Leave me all this lamentable flesh. The burn of sun, the cool of night. These stretched pauses of harm and luck. The corridors of rushing blood, the catacombs of shifting silence, the step and the turn and the rigor of the coil. Bleed me to the bone, cook me down to ashes. This is all the heaven I can stand.
It is a sky that first speaks to flying. It is a sky that voices the soul of sunken stones. The afternoon beats down peals of leisurely heat, making mirages out of steel and asphalt. Summer speaking in the shadows clinging to the bellies of stalled traffic, a season revealed in sizzle and spark. Dusk longed for long before its hour of arrival. Dusk praised beyond all measure of its power.
Praise the day and savor the night. Sing your songs through ache and comfort. Sing your songs once all cause for singing is gone. The heart beats out its graceless rhythms. The heart keeps the time until all that time is done. All you want might yet find you. All you need may be lost beyond all but regret. Sickness leaves and sickness lingers. Your life on fire the feel of some farther star.
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