Tonight I set fire to a very old book
The wheel was in sage and in frost
It was not my tempest but my midwinter night’s dream
As I struck the lucifer to the side
The sun blazed
An infant on a virgin-tipped breast
And reached out its flames towards strength
Fifty-six pages and twenty-one keys
They burned like the nails in a chain-smoker’s coffin
Speaking in whispers they opened the silence
And let me hold stars in my hand
Five staves were prepared
But nine daggers burned me
The fool all but danced on the flames
The moon broke the chain, and I started again
Eight pentagrams led to the star
See how the hermit lights his poor way
For his brothers all eager to follow
Judgment leaps higher
December winds lash
At the blaze of great Gabriel’s horn
Ten knives mark the night that the tower stayed hidden
Ka as the wind that sweeps ashes aside
Three maids toast the land and their very good fortune
While two more are never here found
Another lucifer
Pope Joan’s benediction
Outlives seven chalices promising dream
They offer their gifts to whoever will take them
While one more is supped by a king
They folded and furled beneath Agni’s stern gaze
Their coats worn thin as a Dickens-book pauper
They turn to black moths
Glow and are still
Sixteen years old the same age as a daughter
Now the world catches fire and is ash
It was the fool who started the fire
But the magician ate of the ashes
