Fire
that crack makes
you stop a space between
seconds the body
alert not to bones
taken in arthritic flame
but fire in the box
the glow the ember rare
each time the light
getting in the arc
of a life rising in tongue
to cold air burning
down to ash a morning
silence stoked by need
to keep it lit the fire
aching while there’s still
oxygen you don’t move
listening closely to turn
green wanting seasons
all the colours vented
inside migration the skin
breaking open that loud
crack hot killing cold
in Huron squalls you feel
one crystal born in orbit
out of fire banging
the senses that hunger deep
in storm gusts you
reduced insignificant
absorbed mostly by biggest
nothing only this spark
a vision of universe
merciless you love it
the hurt the predator
the free alive in frozen
lake pretending to be
serene blindness is real
wind and snow making you
see another way death
is there in water expanding
forms the sculpting flame
at fingertips in lungs
in squall and cabin
a fire has to roar hot
or cold the same flame
D.B. Goman aspires to be a professional arm wrestler. On occasion, a bon mot appears on a page, real or on-line.
Amethyst Review 