Sunday, May 31, 2015


The corners of the ceiling
begin to vibrate, a low hum
building to noise, a buzzing
of a hundred hives in unison,
a wind of noise and sound,
the rushing and roar
of a severe violence
bursting upon them;
they cover their ears
as the fire burning
not consuming, dancing
upon their heads, touching
without burning,
a fiery furnace that doesn’t
consume or even singe,
but producing the fire
of the voices of nations.

Photograph by Julie Gentry via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

1 comment:

Jerry said...

Fire, fall fresh on us. Wonderful description.