It is a slow art…

It is a slow art…
To walk through fire without getting burned…
Like Daniel, whole and unblemished…
Understanding yet another secret about ourselves.

It is like being pulled through a knothole…
Past so many sketches and blueprints…
Where nothing resembles the answer…
Emerging without even the faintest smell of smoke.

For each of us, the temperature of the furnace is different…
What is hot for me may be cool for you…
Some flames being pasty and pimply…
Others glinting like the sun.

I have not yet learned how to dance in the flames…
I see others, the child-like people…
But the sparks always lead to something new and exciting…
And somehow, I emerge as a better pup.

I love you,

Annie