Back on the Coastline, East of Izmir

You can choose to keep your own life at arm's length, an ironic remove from all that matters, an inner darkness always wanting, a candle with a wick unlit -- melting away regardless -- but >!here!< is fire.

I got mine from someone,

who got it from someone,

who got theirs from someone,

who got it from >!Hera-!<

clitus. In measures being kindled and in measures going out, in a cold bush burning before a murderer's unclean shoes, in a society of friends and equals unconsumed by inevitable conflict and difference -- >!here!< is fire.

Will you let it burn, or will you snuff it out?

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