A dance of heat and fire
can be so many things.

It can be a dance of passion
where a lonely man cries to his god;
a desperate voice clinging to the noise not to be heard,
but to hear.
Or a dance of love
where the breath is hot,
licking at the skin like the slow lance of a star
to skewer man's heart.
Sometimes a dance of blinding thirst,
cutting away every other sense,
sight,
thought
with white shoots of greed that slice through his soul.
Or even a dance of unity,
where man's thoughts melt away,
fusing with incoherent instincts.
His body writhes
and his existence bleeds together
until there is nothing left but heat and fire.

Is it a dance?
He claims it is sight,
The first step to hearing his god
as he burns at the stake.