Holy Fires (in memoriam: James White)
Once, we made sparks in our chamber, our beautiful chamber, our steel chamber,
The chamber that was you, and was us, and was our toy and our challenge,
You called them the Holly Fires, and smiled that wicked smile of yours,
the smile of Big Chief, surrounded by his bravos.
It was beautiful,
To watch all those blue lightings crossing the darkness,
like burning angels, or mystical dragon-flights,
like burning coals in some remote night camp,
A bunch of scientists in a physics lab,
not different from those nomads that marvel at the flames under the stars,
and wonder at the beauty of life.
Yes, it was fun to watch the sparks,
It was also reassuring to know that you were nearby, otherwise I would have felt,
like I was burning the house.
I was happy and excited, a teenager, trying to grow up his teeth,
And daddy was around, to give a hand.
As as kid, I was an avid reader of westerns.
When I met you I found myself,
talking to a character escaped from one of those novels.
You, so large and strong, wearing your jeans and boots,
riding your pickup track. Yet,
Inside this mountain of a man, shone a soul,
as bright as those blue sparks that we made together that day.
Holly Fires.Sparks shine and vanish,
but they impress, as you did,
their beauty in the universe.
