Maybe Not You or Me

​Maybe not you or me, but some
Of us need to cross a river
Of flames to burn out
Of themselves, with a shiver,

The images of this world, 
The hills bumping along
The horizon, the gravel on
The road, until their strong

Work has turned the store,
The storekeeper, the street
Into sheets of flame,
And everything they eat,

And their words are white
And holy, then they do not
Suffer from the flaming river
Burning their marrow, the hot

Dissolution, but they
Are walking in a river
That never ceases, a magnified
Echo of a joyful quiver.