Hands Like Houses. A Fire On A Hill

It starts with a spark, a breath and a moment of still,A flicker, a glow, as the oxygen spills through a delta of spindles and stone,Kindled from nothing in a whisper of smoke.There a gift ignites; a cursive though takes flight,And there’s a dancer, twisting in between the spines.Give her the breather’s kiss, and watch her spirit lift,She’ll take over the stage, and take over the