to avoid discovery,
i hide.
to discover things for myself,
i hide, for this is the way
to become a croanie of the hidden.
it is cold here. cold is good for its want
of fire and so i build. i read the coal flames.
there are words in them; they form and fade
in less than an instant. you must read very quickly;
very quickly or by intuition; let your heart feel them
like speech.
i feed the fire with dry branches and spare change.
pennies find their value in heat. they turn over, turn
color from copper to blue green
like the color of dark evergreens,
like the ash that fell
behind my eyes in fever as a child.
like confused waters
reflecting dusk where i reached to retrieve
something
under the water's skin. seen plainly but my hand
came back empty. that trick of
angles in water's deflection
that keeps fish safe from spears and wished upon coins
undisturbed at the bottom of fountains and wells.
once wishing well beyond my hopes,
i groped like that but you were not
where i thought you
would be. funny. now my wishes make fair kindling.
let the flame's tongue unroll the green story
before my rapt witnessing.
I'm all eyes;
listening.
