Delight's Fire.

I know I am here.
I do.
I have seen footsteps in the snow that have told me so.
I have spit steam from my breath, evidence of a beating heart.
And tonight, a brave shadow on the snow; gift of a
Crisping moon.
That's the thing of winter;  all else is quiet,
Dormant.
No interruption to reflection,
So when I find myself, all under my brim,
Drunk with the quiet and the 
Clean, cold edge of the air,
I gaze, undistracted, at the moon, stars, and  struggle to
Figure how to burn that brightly.
"How can I tag in?  Get on their map?"
Not for us.  I know, I know.
Instead, our fires burn within; mine,
Hidden magnitudes of young despair
Dampened so as not to disrupt, finally burst to molten,
Razing facades and defenses to
Thick, painful embers,
When all I want is to be full and choked with
Robust flames of delight.


I know I am here.
I do.
I have felt the pain and weight of steep decision.
I have soothed troubled waves of anger and longing,
Evidence of a seeking heart.
No longer a fool, I expect no league with the moon, 
But frankly use her tender shine as reminder of 
Life;
Dormant, vibrant, and all in the margins.
Shame on those whose fires languish for
Lack of intent or gut.
I would not trade my embers earned for any 
Hollow ease.
I can claim my footsteps.
I deserve my steam,
And one day, with diligence's promise, I will
Radiate delight's fire to a magnitude
Worthy of star's queries;
"How can we tag in?
How can we get on her map?"