What makes a fire
So much more beautiful than the science that creates it?

The forked tongue of flame licks upwards
The whisper of some forgotten power

A cascade of scarlet that fills my eyes with tears
On the edge of my perception
I feel its rhythm beating

Not strong, but frighteningly endless
And yet
One pinch of my fingers
One breath from my lips
And it dissolves into memory

Why does a fire
Allow itself to be so easily tamed
When it knows that it is unstoppable?
We exhale in longing 
For that slow spread of a grin that comes with heat
The ecstasy of things falling into place
And yet
Is the fire not simply the messenger?

Is that cascade of scarlet
Not simply the iris
In a face I cannot begin to comprehend?
Maybe a flame is a hole in the wall
Maybe it is a window
Into the world where everything is impossibly perfect
Maybe it is a letter
Scrawled in the hand of the universe
Spoken by the owner of that obscure face
Maybe it’s physics
Maybe it’s nothing
And yet
I am still crying