2014 Adult Poetry 1

               Ben E. Campbell

 

               Morning Fire

 

 

 

 

I call these flames from nothingness,

from the etchings of unadulterated air.

A match strike to wood scrap, paper,

the resin of yesteryears’ blaze—

all caught in a dance of recreation.

Outside winter marks its ethereal glaze.

I glance its deadly works through the

panes of frosted glass: the trees too

barren for bird stops, the roads

gone lost as salient trails.

On a day much like this,

in another recent life,

came the severance of a bond.

Nothing quite so cold it seems

as a love lost in winter.

Chill-taken, I bend towards the flame.

From the dark, unfolding house

comes a warm familiar voice.

“Tend it right,” I say aloud,

and stoke the fickle coals.

 

 

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