The fire sputters a gentle song
in early evening darkness,turns and falls into itself.
There will be rain tomorrow
but tonight another split logyields to the lick of flame,
throws shadow and light
into this late April evening.
We laugh, pass the bottle,
tell another storyso true it’s hard to believe.
We hum our own lullabies
to the glowing coals thatarouse the still cool ground,
warms our hands and
memories of other evenings.
Later we lie down alone,
dream of touchable skin,that could kindle into flame,
blaze our own incandescent light
across all is left of our time.
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