Over yonder,
between that heaven there
and slabs of stone,
some fireweed looms,
looms, and urges
me to lay
my lonely selves
upon that stony altar
and by fire
send them wayward,
wayward shards of fire
they already are,
and so this fireweed
also tells me,
secretly,
that all my future
every minute, every year
is contained
within this moment
here.