. . . So in a Shapelesse Flame

'...SO IN A SHAPELESSE FLAME',
Iam made aware
of slight things:
a fine gold hair;
tremor of wings
within the air;
a stone that sings:
a blood-red stone
containing light.
Should a frail bone
succumb I might
endure, unknown,
out of all sight,
out of all mind:
save that of One
who proffers, blind,
a black stone
in an old wind
on a dead sun.

Structure

19 lines · 4 stanzas