All minds are made up
of near-
infinite wheels—
but only the poet's
is filled with
their turning.
Make no mistake,
she's no more ardent
than the rest;
in fact, she disbelieves
all she's learned
from the fire.
For her,
the shape and flicker
of words on a page
speaks less
of the march of
indelible flames,
and more
the untellable sensation
of burning.
