Pagan Fires

At our ease We take the thread of light From the knots of darkness, Tend the nursery of dreams, Cool the burning sand With shadows of palm trees, and For the bastards prepare a platter Like the moon. If one day we stumble Our roots will stand us straight At our ease We learn the industry Of ants! We do not flicker briefly Like matches; we burn Perpetually Like pagan fires Our breath is as large As the horizon. And at our ease We lead the capricious horse Of History.