And then the last poem in that book
is one that was written in Oracle some years ago.
It's a poem called The Flight.
And it was for Bruce and Fox McGrew.
It was written in their house.
The times in the day, I thought of a fire
to watch, not that my hands were cold,
but to have that doorway to see through into the first thing.
Even our names are made of fire and we feed on night.
Walking, I thought of a fire.
Turning around, I caught sight of it
in an opening in the wall in another house and another
before and after.
In house after house that was mine to see,
the same fire, the perpetual bird.