Fire Wood

Poetry

The tongue lick splits it into perfect fragments

a grid of itself to map how it grew

cell after cell

the daylight called it all the words for green

and at night the open push of it upwards.

 

We can’t watch it enough

how it divides equal

the heat and light the hot central breath of it

the tang of its return to simple form

another type of column

another word for gone.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s