THE RED HEART
THE MAN WHOSE PATH WAS ON FIRE
James
Reaney
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THE MAN WHOSE PATH WAS ON FIRE
I
The man whose path was on fire
left flaming footprints behind him.
He was sweating
& his face
was puffed and flushed.
The sun was a face like his own, equally
uncomfortable, equally wreathed in fire,
but white.
The man
had a dream
the sun
envied him.
At night, the white
moon, he
envied
it, and his flames
burned no less fierce,
engulfing the stones
with a smokeless raging,
turning sand to masses of glass
which returned his image
hopelessly bent, hopelessly
never the same.
God the man said God.
Or, the Devil.
The trees had no defense, leapt
into flame as he passed.
Demons, the man said, the
mind, plugged with flame,
the countryside,
ravished.
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