this poem will burn you

give notice to the flame,
to the quickening, the flutter
it is the sacred mystery that stirs life
into aching being,
and all the freedom that follows
give it your breath, call it out gently
stoke the fiercely vulnerable ember,
give it provocation to flame
without breathe or wind,  it surrenders all color and heat
abandoned of desire, of breath, it loses all calling to flame,
the aching being, the freedom that follows,
left in indistinguishable piles of cold, ashy dust and hollow spaces
breathe is the voice of the white knight, saving the ember from all this
it is the tornado that carries it to meet it’s magical self
it marks the breathe with valor, offers it a throne,
seeks it’s intelligent heart in order to offer thanks for the inheritance of time
the ember offers up the landscape of all desire,
whatever is left unspoken in fields of ash begs to be taken
by the provocation of breathe
to burn it all down again