The Chafing Noose

The heath is alive with bonfires orange meteors have crashed to Earth they light up the indigo sky that tightens the noose reserved for the most obnoxious sojourners on the planet Always another step forward always a path to the unknown hot white orbs beckon from afar they illumine the soul of the hesitant pilgrim she must dine on beauty goodness and truth in her search for everlasting meaning I have untied the knots of destiny far too many times to retie them now only one loop proves needful the one that fits over my head and cinches 'round my neck like Desdemona’s clamped in Othello’s massive black hands Love seeks the apotheosis of itself it recedes from view from touch from the gritty underbelly of the world which is a pale spirit that vanishes like the elegance of swans in a pool’s reflections they glide toward the edge in search of a glimmer of themselves Fire consumes desire it transmutes passion into smoke into vaporous swirls of gray gray smoke O how we yearn for light and heat sans the flame tonight the heath burns inwardly under the weight of farmers’ fires I would stamp them out but already I carry bruises from the chafing noose