The Burning: A Poem
Have you seen the way water In a swimming pool, a pond, Even a little birdbath like this, In its reflection under the eaves – Brushed with a subtle breeze – Becomes the very image of flame? It is exactly the look of a pale And shadowy fire – the way Burning fumes wreathe and… The post The Burning: A Poem appeared first on VoegelinView.

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Have you seen the way water
In a swimming pool, a pond,
Even a little birdbath like this,
In its reflection under the eaves –
Brushed with a subtle breeze –
Becomes the very image of flame?
It is exactly the look of a pale
And shadowy fire – the way
Burning fumes wreathe and rise,
Vanish and return, in constant
Consuming renewal – such is
The soft blaze in this patch of light.
But it destroys nothing: it is itself
What is, or will be, destroyed,
As its parent fire responds
To the shifting of the earth and
Leaves these eaves to harden
Back into blank painted wood.
It is merely a mirror of destruction,
Like a play on the idea, a fantasy
Of incandescence, conflagration:
This that motivates, fuels, unreason,
The life of dream, the desire
To consume and be consumed.
In every such moment of wonder,
Of imaginative contemplation,
Is dis-attachment from the real,
And this has one longing: to lose
And be lost, which is to come
Alive in the world’s cremation.

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