Full felt fast is fire's desire,
Round and round and round again,
Hot turning like lively ashes atop a pyre.
In streamlined whip of unending spin
Love's flames lick no cornered edges tips
And fail to find an end, nor no finite wall.
Nowhere is there times hard held grip
But like the smooth sphere of a shiny ball
Revealing no terrestrial marks,
Movement enshrouds illusory sight
Of no end or germinating spark;
Where there is no future or a past much like
The circling of two single snakes,
Concave things contoured north to south
Where each a link of chain, aligned, do take
The others taut tail within their mouth.
And so we walk in love from anywhere
Arched in infinite curves we do not see
And, though limitless, leaves a center bare.
It is when that finite space is filled we
Sense our time and take a nauseous turn.
And in the snuff of a mortal gust
We then know, within, it will fail to burn.
Love does not die but will go on without us.
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