the song

in the cauldron
of my solitude,
where every bubble
and stirring
has a voice,
a song,
I listen
to the symphony
grow from the fire
of a dark silence,
where everything burns,
where everything rises
and falls,
where there's only one song
waiting to be heard
and worn,
until every cell
of this blessed form
burns to ash,
yes, this flaming song
must be borne.