stone lies deep in a desert,
with protective icicles
That keep out the bangs and breasts
Of those that try to melt it
With fiery eyes and razor-sharp nails.
as the rock sleeps,
A woman grabs it, pinches it,
And throws it in a fire, melting the spikes
That trap it like a mouse,
Caught, its neck shattered in anguish.
pools around the maiden's camp,
She tosses the hot coal from hand to hand,
Attempting to cool that which she has heated.
With each catch and release,
The stone loses heat, transferred to her fingers.
as the passion of the ember dies,
She holds it up to the cool moonlight.
Nothing remains of the mystery, the antique mystique
Of a rock frozen over in a blazing desert.
aside the sad stone,
Placing it carefully by the fire's edge
So that it might never grow frost again.
Inky night covers her as she skips away,
Satisfied with herself and her fire.