I touch you as natives once did 
when first reaching for fire, 
subdued by the mystery and chaos 
born from such stillness in objects.

Your presence is calm air suddenly expanding, 
heating and spilling the random flickers 
of shadows upon the cold canyon walls, 
living dark reflections dancing along stone.

I watch you the way they must have, 
as if we've harvested some sacred power 
straight from the sun and stars 
for our own secret rituals.

The night lifts around you, 
nocturnal flowers closing fragile petals, 
sealing themselves shut 
as if each quivering eye

Cannot survive among your unique radiance, 
one that pulses its vibrations
like clanging bells tremoring 
wherever I have hidden.

For I have tried to do what all men have, 
hold such a potent essence that warms, 
that can feed and illuminate us, 
destroy cities and steal crowns.

But to touch this beautiful danger 
is what it means to be alive.

Helplessly drawn to this heat, 
the licking waves can entirely 
torch my curious frame, 
but you will remain an enigma.

All too tangible but never obtained, 
a living dark reflection dancing with desires, 
meant to be cautiously studied, 
to hypnotize with your every move.

Never to be contained, 
never to be owned.