Burning Up

It is all that surrounds me,

this blackness,

clinging to the rough callouses on my feet,

the trembling tips of my fingers,

and blending with the grey flakes that

rain from the sky.

Suddenly, a lick of light

a stuttering flame

grows from the blackness

and spreads, coughing up

pieces and bits that melt together.

The flame tenderly glues them back into

solid forms that finally become the shapes of

chairs, pictures, a bed

dozens upon dozens of books that are all

forming (reforming).

The light travels across these objects,

checking on their progress

while making its way towards me.

It narrows down

to a

thin

line,

slithering

to where

I’m kneeling,

hands held out in anticipation

of what is to happen next.

Sure enough, it greets me warmly

curling in to a little ball

and allowing itself to be cocooned

in the little silver box

I’m holding hesitantly between my fingers.

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