by Roxanne Burns

Light the candles, form the circle
This page is marked forever
In the memory of the Infinite.
Still, the glass remains empty.
The book’s opened, the bell’s been toned.
The echo of a chant remains,
A silent scream, the howl of the wolf.

We danced through the fire and
Forgot to watch our shadows.
I am lost in your eyes;
We both burn.
We are bound by a spider’s web
In the voice of eternity.
The only disease is confusion;
The only death denial of the self.

I live in the fire.
I walk the shadows of shame.
My name’s not my own; I’m the dragonfly,
The ring around the moon.
I have many names.

Your name’s in the Book of Shadows also,
Though it’s not the name you go by now.
Life’s answers can only be found in death.
You are drawn into the circle;
We are both spellbound.
Silence is the mirror of meaninglessness,
The name of an unborn child.

We all grow differently,
Some of us escaping into the clouds,
Some weeping and self-defiling,
Some of us just the same.
We’re but bread and stones in deserted
Field, wind blowing dust in circles, grey
On grey, a sheet of ice, a blanket of snow.