(I wrote this prose poem in October of 1992 while sitting on the grass one evening at the University of Maryland, College Park.)
A child dances in the flame
The sky is a ruddy flood. Basalt clouds pump brilliant blood. And a child dances in the flame.
The ground is a surface of darkness, an empty sheet shaping hill and plain. Fiery footprints lash upon nothing, spontaneous flares quick-to-die.
A body races, the body dances, a beating frolic, torchlight lurid. Glowing knees hurl high and down-hammer hard, torso twists, face flashes. The hair strikes out across the clouds, the head thrown back, the hands thrown high. A silhouette is seen in silent laughter.
A child dances in the sunset flame.