The sky looms dark–and deeply dark
as here beneath we sit–
blots of shadow wrapped in night
and only lighting when we rise
and walk to see the flame.
The sheep will go where I will go
and follow comically,
brushing up against my leg,
trusting that I know the way
to lead them to the flame.
The fire’s bright and dances bright
a thousand colored strands
that twine their twist in colored light
like ancient tales told long ago:
a coming holy flame.
Starred by eyes, as stars I seek
through peels of whispish cloud
that hide the dots of fire sparks
and shroud the black and bleating night;
all shadow but our flame.
The shepherds speak as shepherds speak
of hardships, home, and hopes
and sometimes we philosophize
our longing by the fire’s side
as nightly burns our flame