Even on this stormy night,
sky too lit up to be dark,
I stay calm but in a frenzied state,
my third eye- the center of the storm
irate but bright–it swallows up the light
like so many flies thirsty for the fire-
found their end- sizzling in the fryer.
What has me going isn’t the anticipation of the fiery union
or the infinitesimal of the satisfaction with which it brings the eternal end.
What has me going is the temptation of the action, the temptation to burst out
laughing, gasping, hoping to catch my breath, the temptation to run out and
grab you, the temptation to enter into the center of the circle, sidestepping the
perimeter.
The knife cuts vegetables skillfully down the tabletop, they fall into place like
they knew where they were meant to be as I admire, witnessing the prowess
which laid inside me wake to the sound of the choir singing above the clouded
mind.
The temptation is the signal of desire. See fire unites the elements, and water
therefore prevents this union. My alchemy may be weak, but who is so
unskilled as to be unable to boil water? Boil it until the falling drops of
condensation signal the phase change of evaporation, that precious moment
for which we are all waiting.
You know what I’m cooking, even if I don’t. It’s made with care, this midnight affair.
