the long night

the fire
was slow to
burn out.
the logs
were stacked
high,
and the heat
was fierce,
the flames
roared,
and the wood
and kindling
crackled
throughout
the long night.
and you kept
stirring it,
poking it,
rubbing your
hands close
to the fire, it
kept you warm
for awhile, for
this short winter
in the middle
of your life,
and in
the morning,
you stirred
the cold ashes,
you let them
be. there will
me more fires,
more flames,
a different me.