The same fire

The same fire
 
Become a dust mote, the Mystics suggest,
or a flake of ash stirred up
 
in the wake of the Beloved’s stride,
just as the universe is ashes and dust
 
stirred up in God’s wake
as He moves through the Void.
 
God is both inside and outside
this briefly-lighted cinder known as me,
 
parted by a thin partition of illusion,
continuously attempting from both sides
 
to reunite and shatter beyond resurrection
the charlatan between.
 
O child of God, you and the stars,
declare the Mystics, are made of the same fire.