Below the flame, the candle warps softly. With you
I am finally alone. Two sadnesses one night in winter
watching the Shanghai burn across the street.
Through the frosted window of our upstairs studio,
the fire flicked orange reflections in ice.
The engines, the sirens, lights circling the bare walls,
the perceptible drifting of smoke.
These are words written by a candle burning.
Here is my breath flickering the flame,
the mind and the body never wanting to be one.
Your arms around me as we faced the window,
I said the flame was impossible to understand
as the shapes of letters before learning to read.
I said, I love you like the number five in gold...
Why is the mind so restless? Why does the body twitch?
Had there been no separation, if mind and body
silently married, how would I want you as
I do? Now I will be a little fire.