Where your skin is fire-fed, familiar
veins channelling hotter blood,
the same heat when the other approaches
may warm, may burn,
the same glow too bright
to appreciate, to understand
a certain shape taken, patterns
found on foreign birds.
It’s not suspicion or scorn
for what disagrees with the known,
but the distance and unfeeling
our sun must have from far enough away.
These are worlds
bridging a gap more valley than void;
this is the fire known in the way
it’s kept close: fiercely.