All I Know of Flames

All I Know of Flames

(“No one lights a lamp and then hides it in a clay jar or puts it under a bed. Instead, they put it on a stand. Then those who come in can see its light.” Luke 8:16)

I thought last night was just a vast alibi,
an opportunity to hide behind the stone walls that
increased my isolation. My chihuahua was there and
can vouch for me. The power was out and there were no
flashlights to be found.
We did light a few candles but kept them far away from the windows.
We had grown accustomed to silence,
but we needed the visitation of friends.

It's not that I’ve fallen, it’s that I’ve learned light is
full spectrum. Tunnels are fine most of the time,
but a wide beam wash of a hundred faces at once
might change your mind.

The light I carry now, or, more accurately, that carries me,
turns like kaleidoscopes, bends around black hole, sends insects
the direction home and birds the tune of their waiting nests.
I swear I saw
light
like this once before. But now that I think about it,
we were all white privileged kids walking in the mountains
because our parents had the money
and we had the time.

Once on an autumn night, standing with an Arikara brother
over a vat of propane-fueled water boiling beef for a memorial,
we talked of deer and ice fishing
and then saw behind us, north toward Canada
the Aurora Borealis. Our conversation was punctuated,
like staccato notes. The beef would feed everyone in the hall.

All I know of flames this time around, is that they are the heat
of love that burns eternally. All I know of light that ebbs and flows,
I know my eyes are closed far too often.