Faring forth to touch the flame that
Leaps from the lamp oft lifted of old,
A child grasping after the gleaming,
The hand was harmed in trying to hold it
In hopes the heat would ease the heart.
The burn-marks bleed in their broad cracks,
Too tender now for joy in the touch,
Slow and uncertain in self-easing
If ever it be found again.
Geoffrey B. Elliott works in recovery in the Texas Hill Country. Some of what he writes appears at www.elliottrwi.com.
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