I am sure of the inner fire burning
always among the embers of night.
Longing for the clear water of reason,
I migrate upstream, a salmon
under the moon of the dark sea.
I move among the fury of ideas with the ease of light.
Only I know the meaning of smoke, of asteroids,
of black origins, the honeyed death of topaz,
the first "I am" life uttered from the promordial soup.
No one can diminish me for I am more than
the archer who shoots the flame,
the fire in the head, the saggita
galloping through forests
like an eagle hurling from the east
with eyes of bitter yellow
illuminating the darkness
though the path is not marked.
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