Saturday, September 24, 2016

then decide

I don't cast
my lot in easily.
I get close
to the fire to warm
my hands,
stamp my cold feet
beside its circle,
but steer
clear
of handling the wood
that burns, not touching
those coals,
red as desire, going white,
thick with flame,
a throaty roar.
I wait
for it to slow, then
decide.

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