The Fire

(dedicated to Viktor)


There is magic in the Fire,
from the dawning to the falling,
from the snowline to the maize time,
there is magic in the Fire.

In the way the smoke twists round,
in the way the wax runs with the ground,
there is magic in the Fire,
and the earth is made aflame.

I saw something there,
not with my sight my eyes
but with my feet my heart
and the joins between each part.

I was drunk on smoke
and heat and vapour,
the blood of trees
and the fat of pigs
and the Days, the Day,
the Days.

The days of my ancestors;
When they first walked out from Africa
When they first befriended Dog,
and laughed as Bird,
and danced as Snake,
constructed knives,
and nets,
and planted seeds,
and warred,
and cried,
and tried to make things better,
then tried to makes things better.

There is magic in the Fire
and the Days, the Day,
the Days.

The Seed

I am K'at; the seed.
Not the sower.
Not the tree.
Not the flower.
But the seed.
And I am ON the tree of life.
And I FALL upon the ground.
And into this Earth I settle;
a delicate life,
waiting for the rain,
a plan unseen;
containing all I have come from
and all I will be.

I am one of many;
complete but small,
uncounted in a cloud of crowds
and falling seperate;
longing for the earth.
And when I find my place,
upon Earth's mercy I will split,
and be no more.
Stretching upwards and downwards,
in Faith of sky and soil
with all protection lost.

Remain fertile ground!
Promise me my promise will deliver
or I will scatter in the dust,
a grain amongst the specks,
in the corner of my vision.
I will fear to be
a barren case,
dead in the wind
and blown in the desert.

But even deserts can have rain.
and even winds have song.
The seeds of a tree are many,
and darkened moons and seasons empty.
And yes, our many hopes seem wasted
but if we wait
stretch out our webs of light
fasten to the wind,
the earth, the rain, the night,
we can catch Time;
Thruming on a strand.
Then will I let go
and leave, in pulsing lome of life,
my end,
and let the tree eclipse my weighted moment.

When once was grit
a forest will arise.
And when I am a cat
there I will hunt;
between the trees,
along the shoreline of the lake,
passing the stones along the path.