All fires die
down
from embers to ash
retardant and uniform.
Our face and fingertips
warmed when close
once upon those times of
burning.
This glow, you know
attracts more than
the dark and cold that surround
our rituals.
Smoke follows beauty,
we all know
while choking
back tears
it escapes and rises above
the flames.
The words were carried,
the intentions swallowed,
the time was wasted
watching and waiting
while warm
sparks blink.
Stoking and smoldering
somewhere inside
the pit
we all knew these bridges
suspend more than belief.
Painting by Nikolai Astrup, c. 1909 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
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