Streams turn jets as a feather aflame lights everything on fire; crows nest in the tower. The roost under the wooden roof. A store whose attic housed another, each turned alight. Hands with a thousand fingers take up the burning, fracturing at the knuckles. The right knee tenses. Pink, purple and dusty yellow skies rise in the smoke. Choirs of black and white keys take song. How do you light the world without casting shadows? One by one, everyone and everything they offer start darkening. Out, past the western edge, white stripes rise on Cemetery Hill and blow all the fears away. In its wake a petal opens, one of its thousand doors, each door the fulfillment of possibility. The eyes open wide shut, and I can see crabs before the red dying sun. The house that stands after the sun, the hand that turns the doorknob. All in a moment, he enters. He calls me darling. He tells me there's food for tomorrow. He tells me he's jerry-rigged the cats sleeping den. He lies on top of me. We tell each other we love each other. And the petals of Buddha closes, the darkness that covers others covers me. And in the silence his fingers stroke my hand.