How silly - I forgot
in the havoc of my own doubt
that there is indeed a fire burning in me;
it has not gone out.
See the way the moss dries and curls and
burns away, it is nothing in the flame.
In the quiet when everyone else had gone to sleep
the twigs popped and cracked in the heat
my cheeks pink, I sit too close
and just close enough.
It is the fire
that keeps us fed
that keeps us warm
that cleanses us
that comforts and keeps us on.