star of infant light within my chest:
shriek not as you do, shear not the rope
that wound me round this stake at self's behest
and lit the flame and poured the oil, alone.
for coring out the essence of the fruit -
that which by none is truly named -
will ruin it, tamed and mild the beast then broods,
never to recognise its place nor Wild retain.
cruelty impassable? no: taste of Truth,
like glistening auburn leaves, the chapel glass,
chopin breathing in your room, sunrise from roofs,
a boon from chance, air pregnant ere the fact.
deprive me, flickering star, of mystery fire
and watch the world compress (and i expire).