Flame Forth

I have found that being a writer is, very often, a bizarre experience. Take the following case as an example. For days now the phrase "flame forth" has been drumming in my head, demanding to be written---but I had no idea what came after those two words. Then, while watching the sunset last night with paper and a pen, a voice arose to match it and began to speak. All I know of this voice and this character is what I wrote at her dictation, though she never even noticed me. Make of it what you will. She said,

Flame forth, O my words, and speak for me. Say to the long pale lances of the winter sun, "How you die in my west-facing windows! I am dying too." Speak the longing of my eyes, blue as they are, following the light where it falls into blue shadows. May my eyes never grow black, as the shadows do; but let my eyes kindle their sea-colors to fire!---to bring back the sun and his warm hands.

Light! See how he bids tenderest farewell to earth, and everywhere those fingers touch, green life appears. The lilies, the lily-shoots, they grow again. I am mad with joy! My bones are as crystal, and silver my skin; my face is as radiance; jewels of fire are my eyes. I reflect the light, but it and I are dying.

Speak, my words, to the sun for me. Tell him that all my heart is his, and beg to know whether he will meet me again at dawn. Tell him that my room faces the west, and I will sit with him until he and I are dead or sleeping; but tell him that my bed faces east, and that I will open my eyes again when he comes.

Without him I will dream of forests filled with mournful hooting owns, and mist, and dreary frightened deer. But when he appears---ah!---tell him that he brings glory with him, and beauty, and himself best of all. Flame out, my words---tell him that I am sick with love. Follow him burning with my message, as a shooting star should! Track him through all the constellations of the night, and know of him, will he keep faith?

"Will you meet me in the morning with your bursts of song? How your light sings!"

For love is strong as death, stronger than blue shadows and sleeping. The world and the deer of the forest and I---we long to be green, lively, and afire, to reach up into his presense once again. We wish to smile at him. Flame forth, my words, and tell him so for me.