January

I was born

I am born

Every day

Light casts me

Into and out of

Fire.

I will expire.

But not today.

My life a painting

Pure, white, moving, beautiful.

There, a red streak

My own blood piercing the brightest place.

Sed ecce!

Is it not surrounded by brighter places?

Touch my hand

and know me.

A little drop of paint

Falls onto the page.

Blue tears and red pain

Making purple flowers in a new garden.

Thank you for the bouquet,

And the page,

And the pain… t.