Poem ‘Bare flute’ by Lynne Bryer

After four years of the illness so dreaded
most hesitate to name it,
to my surprise I find
the darkness only a seeming.
In truth how I feel
is light: burned clean

Burned clean beyond
the terrible scream
of the melting at the stake

Burned clear as bone
in the veldt, picked white
by wind and heat

Burned bare, clear
as a flute of silver
tuned to the breath of God