After four years of the illness so dreaded
most hesitate to name it,
to my surprise I find
the darkness only a seeming.
In truth how I feel
is light: burned clean
Burned clean beyond
the terrible scream
of the melting at the stake
Burned clear as bone
in the veldt, picked white
by wind and heat
Burned bare, clear
as a flute of silver
tuned to the breath of God
