Paradise

That story I told you about suffering
Was a lie. I never wandered into
The woods with a pack of matches.
Truth is I was born there, and there
I ran the weather. Deer left
Apples in my hand, so I didn’t think
To cook the deer. The secret of my
Life was my life, hair falling stiff
Past my neck and then beyond
The center of my back. I can’t say,
The nights grew cold. But Lord,
I was bored. What words I had I
Yawned. I said I walked away
Having heard a voice or a fiddle,
But that, too, is untrue. When
Ever a man leaves, he leaves
Looking for pain. He will risk
Everything to feel anything.
To repeat, in as many languages
As there are tongues, Fire.
When a boy leaves, we call him
A man. Of course, you know that
Story as well as you know my smile,
How it fit my face after I got each tooth
In your wild world, right along with this
Scar and this one and this one and this . . .