“What else to do but perish and rejoice that we perish,
that our blood flows deeper for its limits
and brighter for its death? We will not reject
our reality but inhale it.
I would give you the early summer
when the wheat is silver, and the flowers
like girls in shy dresses, and the blinking
fireflies in heavy night air. We wake,
our hearts beat, the world moves, and there,
there we’ll drink this burning holiness
and ache for it to consume us.”
