WEBVTT

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Last poem in that book
is called The Flight.

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"At times in the day, I
thought of a fire to watch.

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Not that my hands were cold
but to have that doorway

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to see through into
the first thing.

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Even our names are made of
fire and we feed on night.

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Walking I thought of a fire.

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Turning around I caught sight
of it in an opening in the wall,

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in another house, and
another before, and after.

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In house after house
it was mine to see.

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The same fire, the
perpetual burn."

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