Like a moon lit up as lord of the night;
like an autumn tree, when its brittle leaves
hold blaze … hidden by glory, hosts of light ...
If our given blessings didn’t make us thieves ...
if a moment of seeing and some mind-plucked insights
didn’t entice a starving self-belief
to gobble ... Light possessed consumes like fire.
So, stand on the rock of your desert dark;
wake up soulful. Don’t die lazy. Drag desire
from its stretcher, and make it cough up its sparks
and smoke. Then you can trace the deep earth-heat
under the clamour and glare. Your life:
it crosses the canyons of heart. Bare feet,
warm ground. Your measureless steps. Your dusty love.