Recipe For Red

You are unfathomable,
and I think constantly of infinity.
You shine visibly,
so people walking on the street can see it
     can’t help but see you -
         glowing next to me.
You radiate fantastic white noise
in 
visible 
form.
You are the original reborn muse.
There must be uncountable poems and lakes named after you.
Water serves you right.
I know that there are unpronounceable seas in Europe emulating you,
     dark and deep blue -
surface shining
and surface blinding
in bright weather;
     that kind of lake a couple stumbles on to 
and needs to settle down on.
God, the world would love to rest itself upon you,
     needs to build a white house beside you,
     needs to sail a small boat on the surface of you,
     needs to filter you out and love that you are full of life
               in the form of tiny neon fish -
          swishing along the bottom of you.
The world would love to rest on top of you
if they only knew what I do.

I see you sway.
You sway like a tree,
   but lose no life in movement.
I rock to the push and pull of your body,
that needs only the love of itself moving
     needs only fuel for fire,
         fuel for fire,
         fuel for fire,
             to keep the coldest burning coals buried beneath your skin.

You are a flesh covered kiln,
     and pottery in earth-tones emerge from between your ribs
that flex and expand
       flex and expand from the art you hold in –
   sculpture your very heart pounded in every curve.
Your blood glazes every turn,
every turn of soft brown clay that makes beautiful art.
Beautiful art,
like you,
is just crafted that way.

You were crafted with the color green in mind -
green entwined.
Lush forests dedicate their fires to you,
bring down their life in one blaze of glory,
one taste of inferno,
all for you.
Does anyone know why life would sacrifice itself
     would burst into ignition
     would raise a branch or arm or head to lightening?

I do. 

I do.

I do.

You are brown, green, and blue,
and I am red hot.

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