From the road below the volcano,
the poet's house is burning.
Fire flashes from windows,
yet the next curve reveals reflections
of the setting sun.
The rooms glow
with orange light licking pages into flame.
The sun falls beneath mountains,
but his books gleam gold
through glass till darkness flows
from the windows
and fills the world.
All fires fade when he sleeps,
yet in the garden by his door
a red flower rises.
Sparked by stars and moonlight,
one flaming flower
in the garden of night
burns before his darkened house.
Eric Paul Shaffer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/driving-up-to-the-poet-s-house/
