Another fire sermon

I
I saw there was a twig on the horizon
by raising my gaze up and down

Yet knew the blaspheme arrived on
When one runs from the hills and the town.

To that sacred sulking perpetual sea
green in its puke of the world

II
Here we have laid it, beneath our clean feet
To bathe, cool, and immerse

That the currawong sings in a blackened tree
may be nothing short of miracle

To you or me, whose eyes in colour, see
where the poor fool should fly to

Attempt, by all means, to acquiesce
Perform, as fool, undress, redress,

Cool your fires, Rossetti's aunt said so
Tell whichever bird, you greet

In the morning, "hello" -let not
That Heraclitus rush get the better of you;

Rather, boil slowly - as good frogs do,
And when asked your thoughts on fire,

Do, as we do: and play the fool.