NEED-FIRES

The most of pain is greater than its need;
but who shall draw the colours from the glass
until the firing becomes death indeed?

To snatch reluctant wings is baby greed
(lust is foundry that unfuses brass):
the most of pain is greater than its need.

Love is the fruit on which the wasp will feed,
the adder haunting clean and scented grass
until the firing becomes death indeed.

Noosed within kisses that made neither bleed,
lover and victim speak the same Alas:
the most of pain is greater than its need.

The born-too-early learns a bitter creed,
all rituals and sacraments must pass
until the firing becomes death indeed.

No harvest crowns the burning of the seed
that strains and parches in the dried morass:
the most of pain is greater than its need
- until the firing becomes death indeed.