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.