Gas Stove At Night

The enemy is closing in. Gentle
Licking indigo flags. In the dark kitchen the
Smell of gas protesting against ignition. All the dust
And the bloodcry
And the hooves. Do you not hear? The enemy closing

In. Post scriptum: burn this. I thrust
My fingers into flames, curling
War between my grasp. Nike’s strangle
Against the tide. I do it
Over and over again. I do it
To taunt the flames or vipers. I do it
Like I am bitten each time and I do it
Still like Man-toys arching towards the sun
Incinerated turn and turn again.

All in my mind, of course. That way I
Will not burn.