A wildfire roaring
beyond the river
that will protect my home.
In the middle of flames,
improbably there,
incontrovertibly there:
a door.
Through the door —
can you see it? It’s what might be
Paradise
as described in my long-disused
Bible. It has it all: flaming sword, angel,
fine strong tree with a serpent
lounging among its roots.
It’s so dangerous, scream some
onlookers. It’s so clearly
not real, scream others.
Stay put, idiot, that’s a real fire
over there,
scream even more onlookers
less eager for
spectacle.
From this side of the river,
it’s a glory door, all that was
ever promised is through there,
right down to that exciting
and vital snake. But seeing the fire
— what if I burn? What if I don’t burn
and can’t turn back?
What if the door closes behind me
once I’m through? What if
the angel strikes me down
before I even approach,
saying, “you know the rules…”
Smoke rising, flame rising.
I’m safe here for now
on my side of the river
and I can’t help it,
I stare down at the water
accusingly, furious
that it makes it so easy
to hesitate when
all that’s at stake is
how I choose
to burn.
Dark Matter 