It is the elephant
before it knew the big lights
and roaring crowds
of blind mice
at the circus.
It isn't the black ink tattoo
that you left on my heart.
It is the only bullet
I almost didn’t catch in my teeth.
It’s not you.
It was you.
The bus sized trumpet
that screamed sugarcane rain
through the soul in my spine.
Life sings to us
in tongues
we are no longer fluent in.
Sometimes I think
the only way to step the stones
is to burn between them,
burn like an ant
under a magnifying glass.
If you ever have the chance
to ask a burning man if he's bored,
ask him.