I am surrounded by the patched summer tents of a flapping tent city. My cooking fire, it blazes without going out, orange flames against the dark. Burn in my belly, medieval force that propels me into the world I don’t understand; turn me from apathy. If there is a way to survive, I will take it. Desire, I can’t let my will consume me or others, so I yield to a deeper power that calls my name at six a.m.