Three flowers of fire unfold in the upper dark:
yellow, violet, red—each a syllable of the sky’s forgotten prayer.

Beneath every burst, a mineral seed sleeps
in a translucent sheath of stone.

A wand stands ready, its tip bright with awakening—
the spark that persuades rock to remember light.

Here combustion is revelation:
stone flowering into heaven.



Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.