Fathered by fire, my mother was too
preoccupied to notice I was burning.
Water saved me. At first by accident,
but then I learned to seek her out.
Fathered by fire, my mother was the wind who
blew straight through me, and realized too late
she’d seen me last by the open window.
They never came to look for me.
I learned to live without them.
Lost in the deep woods, I felt my way
by listening. Fire engendered my survival.
Wind developed my keen senses.
Even in darkness.
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