The Gift of Fire

I spend years on the edge of the world
sheltered from it
I watch the coronas trace the concentric circles of energy beneath me
I bide my time and gather my rest

I expel
my energy firing in bursts
jumps
just high enough to glimpse the fault lines

I imagine
if the tonnage shifted from Atlas' throngs
with arms like tree trunks
and legs of stretched iron

I realize
the burden
that would ring louder and show brighter
than I could ever bare to falter upon

but when I hear you in the other room
with a distracted fascination
at the center of your voice

I am muted and dulled
I wonder myself weak

about a persisting burden of righteousness
and for you to want the same

And as you turn the corner and fix your gaze to mine
I know nothing of the gravity from these myths
I shun it's pull
I bask in it's fiery corona

I know only that we are still so young
and Atlas can wait another winter
I know it