Newton says molecules placed over fire expand, start to separate and divide—
stretch out. They leave and let go.
I search for fire. Look for it in wooden things, thinking if I keep striking against arbor, maybe it will spark,
catch me a release; burn my hands until they let go.
I’ve been contracting muscles, huddled around past kindling and split choking a confession from these ashes
and nothing has spoken. I begged the ground for flames, begged the earth
to burst into bright glowing orbs, so I could hurl myself, thrust my entire self at it for expansion.
Me, swelling, unfolding like origami— a paper crane taking flight.