A Flame Unseen

Are you waiting for me
to do the impossible—

to speak about the flame
that I've never seen
and to describe the shadows
that it casts on that piece of shore
where you are but a silhouette,
hidden behind the setting sun?

Was it even you whose hair
the frozen wind held in the dusk,
whose face it grazed so calmly
as it whistled inaudibly through
an unmoving image that carried
all your resolutions?

Would you like me to like it
as you did that picture
of backslashes?