Burning Oneself Out

We can look into the stove tonight / as into a mirror, yes, // the serrated log, the yellow-blue gaseous core // the crimson-flittered grey ash, yes. / I know inside my eyelids / and underneath my skin // Time takes hold of us like a draft / upward, drawing at the heats / in the belly, in the brain // You told me of setting your hand / into the print of a long-dead Indian / and for a moment, I knew that hand, // that print, that rock, / the sun producing powerful dreams / A word can do this // or, as tonight, the mirror of the fire / of my mind, burning as if it could go on / burning itself, burning down // feeding on everything / till there is nothing in life / that has not fed that fire