I lived and feared that I was fire,
that consciousness was dancing on its fuel
and burned itself to rise up higher, higher
‘til I no longer stood to bear its rule;
I feared that as my mind consumed my corpse
I would be lost in smoke and air at last –
and all my life I clung onto that source,
and held the cordwood of my body fast
to warm me in advancing night;
to bear my soul’s receding light.

Yet as my body burned away,
I wondered if I were another being:
a spark, emitted where a field-line lay,
of electricity beyond our seeing.
Perhaps I am not flame upon a pyre,
but rather lightning arced across a gap;
for moments only given thought, desire,
for seconds’ span bound tight within this trap –
this body, born and growing old
within a single thunderbolt.

It brought me comfort, in those hours,
imagining the poles I lay between;
for though they bear diminished powers
electric fields are limitless, unseen.
Perhaps this life is light in ozone’d air,
a thunderclap upon a roiling storm,
but maybe something lingers there
when fires burn down, no longer warm;
perhaps I am a field and not a flame,
perhaps I will flash brightly once again.