Fresh air swarms,
bottled up inside a cocoon with a door,
with a window beside window,
making passage to flooding rays
swimming in from that great star
that we reach, stretching petals and
leaves and stems.
If only we were a little longer we could touch
the mother flame
but glorious is that star that warms us from afar,
reaching, stretching her rays to fall upon faces
in that window beside window, brother and sister
stretch, basking in a bath of golden light,
the fountain of youth
not in years but in spirit—
Toss a penny in the light beside the casted shadow
watch as it burns and ignites and disappears.
The mother flame tasting copper,
knowing of desire
and birthing survival.