Death draws respect

and fear from the living.

Death offers

no false starts. It is not

a referee with a pop-gun

at the startling

of a hundred yard dash.

I do not live to retrieve

or multiply what my father lost

or gained.

I continually find myself in the ruins

of new beginnings,

uncoiling the rope of my life

to descend ever deeper into unknown abysses,

tying my heart into a knot

round a tree or boulder,

to insure I have something that will hold me,

that will not let me fall.

My heart has many thorn-studded slits of flame

springing from the red candle jars.

My dreams flicker and twist

on the altar of this earth,

light wrestling with darkness,

light radiating into darkness,

to widen my day blue,

and all that is wax melts

in the flame-