A Billion Burning Dreams

Just inadequate enough to wonder, to question. One number away from infinity. Other times

I feel congested by gray, cumulonimbus guillotines that slice and cut away, that prune,

that shut out everything. A fine line of firmament separating the intoxication of my sun from illuminating the world. These fickle clouds — my clouds — can be corralled, contained. Lassoed with a leash

to be kept at arm’s length. The light that hides within is a tool,

a gift that can guide, a fire that can ignite and consume everything, but only if I let it.

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