Out of my lifelong body the nerves of the light
will build the fire of your birth,
the screen where walks your shadow
reflecting my own soul.

To cry the world on the wall is to tell
the swelling of the nest in my aching muscles,
the house built on my flesh dives into the ground
where the veins full of dreams run like mad ants.

Becoming yourself should flicker the flame,
the child being born out of sole desire
into the universe of the cell
will crawl out of you and become a new star

floating on the mirror of your soul
or like a finless fish quivering through the dark.

You don't have flash installed.