A frail man stood high on a granite precipice
as rain lashed harshly his wrinkled brow.
His dead eyes stared fixed into the abyss
while the deep clouds held an intemperate row.

The powdery embers of his belly’s red fire
had dimmed to flecks of faintest off white.
But now, not far from where this had transpired
shone out a tall lighthouse streaming bright.

And in its arc light’s blazing blue beams
the haggard man saw past his mind’s edge
to see he wasn’t the only in a feverish dream:
Multitudes stood each on a dark stony ledge.

Just then the others saw too through the gloom
that they were surrounded in this bracken dell
by bleak fellow travelers of similar doom:
They shared in their bones that they all were unwell.

This newfound chorus sang their litanies all
in crescendos of crisis and depths they bewailed
but the more that joined in, the music recalled
how by sharing their song they’d over darkness prevail.

There in the bellies of each in the throng
once cold embers began to kindle a spell:
This company of the crushed composed a new song
whose magic this sympathy symphony cast well.

The fences are on fire
Can’t you feel it?
The bonfire in your nostrils
Time standing by your side,
Whispering “quickly, love” and,
In the distance, lips part and quake
They—you—(what difference will it make?)
Tremble like a lake of sulfur,
A lake of liquified lavender
But darker—wine, yes, wine in its cellar
Can’t you feel it?
The ashes pasting themselves over the moon
The midnight sun, the falling stars at noon
Time grabs your hand this time,
“No more waiting, my love” or maybe
It was “No more hating, my love”
You clench your free hand
You bite your lip
You drench you drench you drench
Your body in acid in courage in rage
Can’t you feel it?

The fences are on fire
And love’s coming for you