Love is the fire where bread bakes
Fire is the bread of lovers
These words cling to shadows
The fountain is dry
And the eyes don't see
What of bread? What of lovers?
Who am I to speak of faith, of fire?
What do I know of lover's bread?
I am full of wine and smoke and sweets
What does a full belly know of hunger?
Of bread burning under white phosphorus
And depleted uranium?
Of ovens that will never bake another loaf?
Of hearts that will never race again?
And eyes that will never again dance
At the sight of a loved one?
Do not ask me of love
To it, I am a stranger
I have approached the edge of its flames
And imagined the experience of burning
At its center
This imagining, I speak into words
But only fire, and burning can speak love's name
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