It is told
in places of old
around the Speaking Fire
that one can tell
those touched by the wild—
by the light dancing in their eyes
running as easily with tears of sorrow
as they can streak a face
with wrinkles of laughter.
The broken-open heart of such a one gone wild,
they say around this fire,
can grow flowers out of sorrow and despair.
There is something too, whispered round this fire
about the cauldron of an open heart
brewing alchemical transformations
allowing wild eyes to see
what others think common and mundane
radiating the extraordinary
and this one, now so changed
becomes compassion and love itself.
whoever really heard of a fire…
of a fire that can speak, anyway?