You are the heat of the moment

Your intense mind-light through lens on the world

And so the pressure rises, blood boils

Yes, the drama is you

While life is quiet in its matter-of-factness

You and your speculation

Your insistence on being in the know

Your demand for life to succumb to your description of it

The way you must win, overcome, immortalise yourself

Yes, you are the heat in all of this

Not the heat of the November sun

Its ecstatic, electric lamp light on a whirl of gnats in the garden

That you’ll never understand

White light so clean and pure on autumn’s leaves and bark

So bursting with colours that tears well up

And everything is such intensity that you’ve no idea if you’re in pain or bliss.