Small Sacrifices to Pele

And She creates the land
out of love and anger.
Fire black, red billows,
pillows out to make more
for us to plunder...

And She creates not
because She's lonely.
Not because She wants
all the awe and company.

She creates because it
is inside Her.
This life.
This heat.
This everything that is to be--

Succulent colors not yet seen.
The unknown, ferocious passions
of all us beasts and angels...

We walk over what has dried,
as close to the flow as we dare.
Hoping not to
c
r
um
b
l
e.
Wishing there was something
we could give, a little bribe--
a small sacrifice
that could corrupt Her
just a bit. Enough
to know a secret or two.

Explain the heat?
When will it end?
Are we going to
start over again?

No answers at all. No hints.
No misunderstandings...

There's no corrupting eternity.
Something we already knew before
dropping in...

But what kind of folks would we
be if we didn't try?