In the darkening blue, soon black like smoke, he pulls stars from sky and makes fire. This man, my father, has shown how to gather. His sinew, his arms, his hair, his voice of thunder may all be mine in time as sun is meant to rise.
His lifelong mate, my mother, her eyes so kind, displays for me what belief can be. Her strength is seen in our shared stirred flame shooting warmth to our hands.
They smile as if children themselves pointing above and showing me source of shine, light like sun through holes, like those eaten from leaves held to face up close, and I know who I see. I see a peek of all that I am which through them I am complete.
In this warmth, this peace, as our fire does dance, despite all the fear in the unknown wilderness, I see them look upward in a comforting confidence.
Up there is a dazzling bliss and we are one with it. Nature and the stars above bestow some kind of plan, for that saving fire again has come near, just outside our dim cave, through their hands.
Published by Writing Knights, Hessler Collection,2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem