The Story composed of fire

The Story composed of fire

beats me tonight,

where my fingers are planting the story

which they had written last night.

Who knows the story is on the subject of genuineness.

How should I know it is in relation to that game?

Its ancestors, or its offspring.

Search me if I am making illusions,

if I am creating bloopers.

Ask me another time, just ask me.

You have got me,

God knows I am not the finger which is writing.

I am the finger which is penetrating,

I am the finger which is moving,

I am the finger which is circulating to plant her story.

But, other than, however,

not into the soil,

not in the earth,

not in the world.

I am the finger of the story imbued on the empyrean.

I am the finger composed of fire related to that story.