we circle in the night around the fire
are
consumed by it
even as
we take it in, worship it,
admit
our need for warmth
for
heat, for nourishment
as the
fire feeds us
taking
and giving in balance
until
we come too close
and
that which sustained
reaches
out
caresses
our hair and our skin
like
any lover, pulls us in
and we
fall, weeping, into the thing we love
becoming
the thing we love
at last
Oh, this HOT, Judy. I've been mesmerized by campfires, lust, and burning buildings my whole life (such as it is) and now, almost completely ash myself, all I get to do is to sit around reading outstanding poems like this one. Thanks. More, please.
ReplyDeletewell my goodness, thank you.
ReplyDeleteIm a bit of a firebug myself, come to think of it. Well, you've seen the brush piles. I get to burn those. And the wood stoves. I told my husband once, if we didn't have wood stove fires for me to play with I'd probably opt for a life of arson, just to see the pretty flames...