Fiery Folk

My old dust jacket looks good on the ground;
my shoulders glow warm in the sun.
My stillness, a bonfire for dancing around --
My silence, a sky hot with fun --
with wooping, and stomping, and sweet smirking smoke
from before and from after the gun --
I'm joining the riot of fiery folk.
I will sing my own songs -- every one.

I dare blackest nights to come make me afraid --
I double-dare loneliness, too --
I follow the light I have guarded and made;
my heart-fire takes living as fuel.
I offer it all to the hearth and the earth.
I leap and I bellow and moan --
I dwell in surrender so that I may burn
and be one of the fiery folk.