Monday, January 17, 2011

Poem: Letters of Fire

Letters of Fire

Your eyes linger on the quarry.
Soft snow covers the thick ice,
perfect whiteness.

It is cold. Minus fourteen,
but still, without wind.

You stand by a fire,
small, dancing,
it's warmth a mere flicker
against the cold

as you read letters,
one by one,
tales of failure and fear,

of past and present,
stories of unwinnable wars
that are part of you,

even as you drop them,
one by one,
into the fire.


It really was minus fourteen Saturday. And I have been playing with the idea of poems about cold ever since. More to come, I suspect.

The picture was taken down the road in West Pawlet, VT. You can click on it for a larger version.



Tess Kincaid said...


Mark Kerstetter said...

That is beautiful. I love the sense of acceptance and using that to keep the flame of life going.