through the flaming rubble, he drops to one knee,
perhaps, to dash out the sparks and swat away
white-hot embers that threaten to scorch her outer
skin-a shell of gold leaves, in a few spots the kiln-baked
gilt layer charring through, nearly exposing
the tougher second skin of japanned lacquer–
a hard black gloss of laminated varnish
miraculously resisting hottest coals,
the many-layered shellac epidermis
warding off demonic forked snake-tongues of flame ...
He ignors the sizzling mouths of fire, open-
throated, gaping widely over his back
and flanks, soundless wails through the wounds of maws
in his scratchy haircloth shirt. He does not see
her thousand arms grow limber and soft, the frantic
waving of her hands brushing firebrands away
from all sides of his body as he flees: a few
dozen hands cupped and smothering the charred lips
of holes in his cloak; a few hands whisking the flamelets
(fingers of fire) away from his face and bare skull;
others, caressing and sheltering his singed–
but unfired-beard. Each of her eleven faces,
springing to life with a different expression,
assumes a guise to fortify his nerve
or ease his pain. He communes with the many-visaged
deity, taking strength from her glances-
smiles, grimaces, scowls, radiant beckonings ...
He laughs outright, boldly gives thanks; then chides
his innocence, curses her for a Gorgon
in disguise-Medusa! He shuts his eyes, hurtles
through the smoldering egress, life, limb and saved
Goddess intact, barrelling from the ash-heap
ruins ... Sequestered in the outlying forest,
his laughter returns in a great timber-
splintering roar, irrepressible....
