when does a fire in the heart meet its fated hand—
when does hunger deep inside rise up into pupils wide,
and madness seep from bellows out-through breachings of hair and wrinklings of skin—
o what rage could be so sweet to whirl away a woesome world,
catch the tears to fall from a loneliness so absurd,
and teach its holy breath, once hidden in the sunlight,
to escape in clouds of warmth caught only by nights’ friends.