Love Used to Make You Magic

How do you ask someone to chase you when you’re standing salt-pillar still? Why would you ask for words when what you want is for words to come without asking? How do you burn with love, prophetic, indestructible, but watch everyone walk past you with their shoes on? They know not what they do. They walk on holy ground. You want to watch the fire but you want to be the fire. You want two fires in one hearth, maybe. You want the impossible. You asked for balance now you dig in your skin for madness. “Love used to make you magic,” you insist, but all you find in your sleeves are cheap trick cards and double headed coins. How do you find the Holy of Holies without curiosity killing the cat? And if you convince someone to need you, did they ever need you at all?