The Flame

When it is lethargic the flame sleeps 
under the herbs singed by the burners 
the footprints of men left in the dust
do raise up the thirsty famished birds
flushed gymnote the flame speaks
with those who run from the electrical poles
summer which so kills under thatch?
winter casts off embers in its icy home
glowing reliquary of old suns
faded upon muddy terrains 
the carbon breaks up like the night of poles
gnats are sleeping in the dark shadow of Danzig
bubble enclosed in the crystal 
palimpsest witnesses of resin forests
the heavens' activity grants courage to all
under the thunderclaps about the sun
flash a flower a heart
in their red hands as have become