The First Fire


© Shainbird

Like spirits joining the stars,
Chimney smoke rises white
Against the cold, dark sky,
Inside, flames lick the log,
“Taste like chicken,” I hear
Them say, hissing, flapping,
Spirits trapped in the gold
Blaze take shape and verse,
Like cloud gazing I see, I see
A duck and a pigeon poised
To take flight, a girl reading,
Face glowing with adventure,
A greyhound growling angrily,
The quiet room slow dances
To the silent romance, I realize
The duality of the fire, I feel
The warmth, the ether, and still
Insist, it is harder on a cold day
To find warmth than to cool off
The summer heat deprived of ardor.

Copyright © 2013 Shainbird. All rights reserved.

NaNoWriMo Day 13: 1529


About Shainbird

"A lonely craftsman putting one word after another."
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5 Responses to The First Fire

  1. Bastet says:

    For me it is harder to cool off in the summer than to find warmth in the winter…though I prefer an eternal late spring 🙂 love the fireplace!

  2. Sounds nice – though I always prefer the cold, growing up in Seattle and all, grey skies is my favorite.

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