Nightfire

How am I to be

both soft, human,

and a container for fire—

grief, rage, and the truth

that burning it all down

is also a way forward,

the truth

is that my flesh is soft,

is that my soul is soft,

no matter how much iron

I adorn myself with.

I will not tell you

everything will be okay.

But by grace

of the divine dance

I will remain human—

cupping, with gentle hands,

the tender, wounded flame

of my heart,

a quiet ember,

a beacon of nightfire

this way,

north—

the stars whisper