Fire Watching
Last night I dozed before the fire
watching the remnants collapse
in spurts of flame, quick blue tongues,
the secret whispered back and forth;
and saw the red tremulous heart
beat within black ribs, then frosting
over to the crystalline sound
of ice etching a window pane;
dimmer still, mere undulance
in the dark, ashes curled, embers
sighed like the hunter who can trudge
no more, leans back in drifted snow,
face to sky, catching pale flakes
(the darkness turning inside out)
so oddly warm upon the brow,
one eye open, as two eyes close.
by John Savoie
Editor’s Note: Anyone who has watched a fire burn down knows how mesmerizing the flames can be. In this poem, the imagery feels exactly like that strange slump into sleep.
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