FlameFlower

The blue-white heart
of a cleanly burning flame
birthed a spirited flower of a girl.


The details are fuzzy,
come from a deja-vu
waking dream only
(perhaps) half-remembered.

A kalim rug beneath a tree,
tea poured into small glasses
with an elegant and ritual flair,
a well-used hookah,
the tinkling laughter of children.

Some old-world there
was where a foreign flame,
small yet purely pulsing,
clean and brightly burning,
danced and licked its tongue
toward God's singing throat,
turning a strong heart's fuel
into a simple, single spiral,
a nimble wisp of smoke
writhing/whirling toward
eternities nearer shore
in the shape of a woman dancing.

It somehow seemed to Charles
much like a flowers birth,
splendor and perfume
from a tightened bud uncurling.