Maybe We Were All Born as White Flames, Translucent and Hot

1. Maybe we were all born translucent,

before we were drug

against the grain

of modern living

that calloused our skin

and cooled our warm blood,

2. With glass skin 

so veins could see

what cannot be

observed with eyes.

Their duty:

to not turn away

with pale and empty

blood-drained faces

    when witnessing 

    cruelty at its worst

but carry the news

directly and quickly

to the heart to transform

the felt-sense of tragedy

into a compassion 

so fierce it returns color

to anemic skin

and dense hope

to brittle bones.

3. To the dead and dying,

to windows and mothers

with empty arms 

and hollow eyes,

we peel our calloused skin,

to feel their pain,

just enough, 

to touch the white hot coals

of our hearts

to these narrowly deemed

worthy causes,

yet aren’t we all

assigned terminal at birth

and widows

once married to time 

only to find broken vows

in our wrinkled skin?

4. So, in this cold 

and steely place,

I can’t find better reason,

even if unreasonable,

to strike the match 

of our flammable bodies

against what is icy

or hardened to stone

to warm and soften us both.