The world is a garden in flames
burning amid my ribs and You,
You are the burning itself,
the turbulent wind fanning the flames,
raising them higher and higher,
eager tongues scorching earth and sky,
tree and stone and star,
and with infinite passion inscribing
burning letters into the heart of the Heart,
the fountain of grace,
the silent spill of Love.
I am at the fountain of silence,
and the invisible wine is filling my soul with grace.