I am
rare earth metal.
I temper —
last forever and ever
with internal constancy,
and when I am in air,
blue night air,
I burn.
I am loose
and wild
with the momentum of the things
I hold inside.
I am dangerous —
a threat to myself and others.
Tonight there will be nothing
in which to put my passion —
but to run
run and run and run into this night
fall to the lawn
press my face to cool grass
smell the must of earth,
the only crucible
vast enough for yearning.