for Michaela
What’s left to say?
Just this
In the rain
There are sparks
Of dark fire.
Do you see them?
They are like roses.
Do you see them?
Do you see yourself,
Burning shamelessly?
How will you begin
When there is no end
To the night
Or the burning?
Think of a bird
On a branch
With no wings of flame
But words
To set itself on fire
And sing
Of the night
Of the rain
That will not stop.
Without that song
There is no morning light.