the arsonist

it is what it is.

I want to set that phrase on fire.

Pour some gasoline on each letter
till they reek of volatility 
till they are itching for ignition, for agency
to burn and lick and singe.

I want to catch her mind alight,
each redwood-high issue to smolder
and I want each eye to brighten
like a freshly-stoked furnace
her words to be shot-off sparks
glowing in the night.

for every shrug
I want dynamite to liven
up the shoulders that have
lowered with the eyelids
till the whole body is a half-vision,
my kindle, these half-dreams
and one day I’ll find the match
to set the mind to passion
and she’ll wake up with a woosh,
a wild wonder.