It is at first a subtle tickle --
A novice would say "joy" --
But joy is a ghost to this emotion.
Joy is a shadow of my heart.
Words are too static to depict this fire
But "passion" partially suffices.
And then I am consumed in it,
A candle in a blowtorch;
Breath would cease if it were not
Habitual to high degree.
I do not have the use of senses.
I do not need them.
When I see you again for the first time
I experience this thing,
Each time the same incandescent splendor,
And each time the thought:
"All the candles in the world
Would not be enough..."
-- Bryant Durrell
January 1994