I come with my battery-powered lamp to sit by your fire,

my tired feet warmed by the flames of your heart,

drawing energy not from a’s or c’s or even d’s but from solar flares.

I sit in sunshine even in the dark of night

reflecting the source that you are.

Your fire needs to claim a log.

It needs to crackle and crisp the edges of whatever draws near.

Take this wood, take this word, and burn me, baby, bring it on!

We are lit from within with that destructive, creative energy of love

where every wood chip splinters and sparks

demanding yet more fuel for the fire.

 

Willingly, I turn my face toward your inner sun

and recharge my batteries to be a light in the night,

sitting in the splendor of your flame,

my beacon humbly holding vigil.