Hurricane Glass

Something inside of me is sleeping like winter.

The fire blazing that threatened to consume me
is barely now a flicker.
I can still see in here -
surely it is casting its light -
but it is now a lone votive memory of my burning.
I miss being consumed.
In my dying I felt alive.
I wanted more even as it ravaged more of me.
But now it is gone.

Strangers offer fuel and I say no thank you
as if they were offering a magazine subscription
or a carpet cleaning.
I wonder if something vital has left forever.
I wonder if I can ever recover it,
if the wick is too short or the room too small.
Maybe it is to be more than a memory
but also a beacon.
Maybe I see it from the sailor's view,
and as he draws nearer,
perhaps it will grow brighter.

The raging fire is at war with the world,
but the flickering candle serves the world
and needs protection from the world.