Little fire that dances in my heart,
what is your name
and who named you fire?

Though I walk like floating
from place to place in this
eminent tundra, though
ecstatically you whorl about
and thaw the mirror-side of my
parchment flesh,
still it is the bluster and the blizzard
that chart out my way
into the source of all dancings.

Little fire that dances in my hearth,
what is your name
and who named you fire?

Hot face to cold stone
I set myself prone on this,
the bottom of the well in her house,
and sleep in the shadows
of the carpets above me.