I am the poet who writes from the ashes br of an all-consuming encounter br at the edge of the world. br br In those moments when I myself am filled up with darkness, br with no space even for my own light, let alone the light of another, br I feel as though the narrow recesses of my being br can scarcely contain your effulgence. br br In those moments I begin to understand the ancient admonition br that warns seekers away from any attempt to behold God directly, br as though were I to look into the sun of your radiant heart, br the very lens of my perception would shatter, br and there would be nothing left of me. br br Your love is the fire and I the wood. br And yet each day with you I remember, br a little more clearly, br that I too am this fire; br that I do not stand in opposition br but am one with that which consumes me. br br And so I celebrate my annihilation br and plant seeds of knowing in the smoldering ruins br of my former mansion. br br This is the story of love's encounter with love at the edge of the world, br and we are the poem that rises from the ashes.