This sinew, bone, and flesh are real.
These muscles kindle vernal heat,
and cells attack, repair, and heal,
sustained by carbon plants and meat.

You seek the void, eternal naught,
and heart detached from joy and pain.
The fire and ice that are our lot
require too much, so you abstain.

Oh sear my soul sweet flame of life!
Ignite my awe in love, then crush
in loss. Make nights with her o’re-rife:
my beastly roar aloud, then hush.

I crave the living, the dying, and blood–
the carnal years made holy with mud.