I have no eyes, no ears, no lips, a flower drawn from the wild seed
of their eyes, elytra’s spark in the darkening riverbed, a trembling
protean flame rising from an elusive space where skin meets skin.
Hand in hand, they watch me grow tongues of flame licking the
warm air, extending like fingers in a glove, intertwined vines
blossoming in fiery petals. They hear the rustling of dry leaves nearby,
a droplet bursting on a tin gutter, a crack in the icy roof, a tear of
melting snow, read the sudden silence of wind chimes, hear me
whisper: yes, I am, I know . . .