Mind of Fire

(after Ocean Vuong)

Suppose everything was true.
& the conscious mind is not

a whisper of brevity, just as is—
and a bit of aged ivy. Suppose you sought

& screamed for yourself, flickering
jade, entranced. Sitting wordless

& still, candor will stand again. Take
the match to the bone—press it, curving

& singing green sparks to sleep. Waning
mornings, ephemeral, seep the windows.

A pinked mouth presses glass, fogging
a response; you, alone again, stand up—

expecting.