under a plume of smoke her charcoal
fingers frantically hit the floor,
and sparks from her grinding teeth
ignite a flint revealing a cluttered
and messy den.
holding the tiny flame in her hand,
she scales a tower of leaning chest-drawers
to once again retire the light,
turning her back on the many bulbs
exploding in her mind…
but the light dances in a wind flowing
from under her breath like an open window,
becoming a bird of fire,
taking to the sky…
and outside this den are a thousand birds
circling her mind…
they light the way,
patiently waiting for her to summon
them home.
