controlled burn

1
I was a bed of orange
coals bursting tiny
blue flames.

You walked across.
I couldn’t burn you.
You couldn’t pour water.

2
Your eyes bowls begging
for the simple rice of me.
There was nothing to spoon
but soot and smoke.

3
I rose, black
smolder, hard
shoulders. You kneaded
me loose, cool hands
unraveling fire knots
of memory. Still I burned,
though you untied
me from me.

4
You towered
beside me, pine
cradling abandoned
fire circled in stones
between your roots.

I stayed in the ring,
licked the air, crackled
for dead growth.
The wind blew.

When what you
thought was you
fell into me, we
made light from what
was no longer needed,
and shook off
fire and wood.