From fire we come, through fire we are and with fire we walk.
There is where life dwells, within the infinite warp of cold fires running through the worlds.
On its states we are, from its states we are again. Only its pale reflections we see.
No one lights the fire. It’s prolonged.
Opening gusts in the air so it keeps running.
Fire is put out by no one. It returns to itself.
If fire is not you are not. But fire can be without you.
Fire does not come to you, we come with it.
Fractalized in millions of avenues.
In other folds and without these bodies, we are that fire’s warp.
Never ceasing to be. With open doors and no walls.
Turning without halt, connecting without hindering.
Breath slipping out when we see fire,
are dazzled recognitions meeting
manifested life on its real shape.
A lit fire,
brings to this world fire from another world,
unleashing a contact with life of its own.
Those tunnels remain open longer than we can hold on the effort;
a candle will do it, a bonfire carries the unmanageable.
Putting it out is not an option. Life cannot be turned off.
Fire granted us shape-shifting,
stepping on dry leaves we drew its breath,
swimming we are impregnated.
We come from white, golden and blue fire,
we flow with black, red and transparent fire,
we float on its perpetual movement.