Winter Fire: Poetry


I was born under a streetlight,
ever listening to approaching footsteps striking pavement.
Beneath this man-made tree,
I meditated upon the Infinite Manifestations.

At thirty-one,
the Wise Woman appeared from the shadows,
offering a cup of honey and almond milk from the middle of the street.
I accepted this wine and drank,
spying backwards and forwards within an illuminated Present.

I became the fog of Relativity,
blanketing All with Winter Fire
fueled by sanctified books blazing with knowledge.



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