Creative Fires

The shadow clings to fire for its life,
And I live in shadow. Your fires burn bright,
A joyous light I love to bask in.
I watch you work: the focused gaze,
The flow of your drawing hand, the wonderful
Laugh of pride at your newest perversity.
The fun you find in your own jokes dances,
Charming, pulling in others to laugh with you.
Pell-mell your life crackles on the page.

A candle burns at my bedside, and it too
Casts a shadow. It bobs, companionable,
Quietly entertaining itself as I write
These words. Its orange glow warms the page,
Strobing, juddering, dancing fast
With a dusky consort. Beyond the dance,
On the wall my shadow remains fixed,
Landscape made solid by the play
Of fitful lightning. The light is yours,
My muse, but the mountains and valleys
Existed before you exposed them to view.
The play is yours, but the stillness is me,
A dark country surprisingly unknown.

I love your brilliance, your life, your warmth,
But beyond any of those, I love
The new parts of me you illuminate,
Lost before, even to me, in shadows.