Lava pulses through my veins. A coursing,
liquid stone, devouring stares, pacing.
Plead for fury to cease.
To again breathe as a pool of still water,
seas unshaken by erupting storms whose
searing heat shudders beneath the waves.
I walk. I fumble in the steaming fog,
stammering speech, drifting –
a rowboat in quick currents spinning
until I find the oar and rudder and turn
into the wind and pull
for I have remembered:
Here is the damp earth.
The salty earth.
The strength of my bones.
Clear,
silent as stars;
a hawk spying mice in distant grasses.