walking through a darkened temple, a jagged hole perfectly aligns; the kinked white-light washing inward becomes a shimmering flame, topping a stone pillar, becoming a faux candle in my shimmering mind
Flameless Flame [Free Verse]
3
The spastic flame that dances fast: too weird to match to drum. The teary eye strays into trance as if deadened by rum. Where will the flame transport us now that smoke has made us cry? Where will the cracking sounds take us as we turn to the sky? The moon is out and casts a glow, a glow of milky white. And each dim point of starlight burns trillions of times as bright as that feeble, little campfire that rules what I now feel: the heat, the smoke, the popping sounds that now make my head reel.
Mountains are best viewed at a distance, despite humanity's "closer is better" bias. Up close, one is invariably in a cloud, looking at an undifferentiated mass of gray-white: ice -- granite -- snow -- fog. One may climb a mountain to see other mountains in the distance, but standing eye-to-rock with a mountain offers little spectacle & grandeur. Massive things can be too close to see. I wonder whether I'm also better viewed from a distance. Not everything is. Consider the opposite mistake: People say things such as, "My Great White Whale is out there." But Great White Whales are always found looking inward -- not out in the distance.