My Heart is a Burning Flower
My heart is a burning flower; its flame
is writ in signs that speak the divine name,
that trace the flowing, curling script of truth;
it yearns, as fire alone can yearn to join,
unite, with that of which it is the sign.
A consuming fire is the Lord our God;
his image burns with a Godward desire,
the ardent song sung by angels in choir.
What symphony of flame rises on high,
as each heart burns with the fierceness of love,
converting base fuel to heaven above!
The world is a pyre my heart will devour.
I turn into prayer the things of this world;
each sad, mundane thing to glory I hurl.
My heart is a fire, and with spirited tongue
it echoes creation; in heat and light
it pours toward last judgment; ecstasy bright
like a crown of thorns its fierceness adorns,
an echo of burning heart on the cross,
of the holy mother's heart in her loss.
My heart is a flame like an ark of gold,
its burning is like titanium white,
like a blue-white star spinning in the night,
like life immortal, like Pentecost day.
In you, O Lord, I am consumed by fire,
a burning bush unburned of love's desire.