I give to you
this
fine dry Yule log
of
stored sunlight
more
fuel for the fire
escaping
smokeless
from
wooden cells of oak
warming our hearts
with
radiant heat
and
seducing the stars
with dancing flower
flames
on
this cold, clear
December night.
Is that the soul of love I see
reaching
out from glowing coals?
If so, how close to sit?
For burning memories
still
seem as hot
as
those tongues of fire
that kiss my skin.
A second log from fallen oak
I
place into the flames.
Burn...burn...burn...
and
do us all some good
you
storm toppled tree.
Shall I not
resurrect
your
glory days
under the sun
in one last blazing
fire of desire?
Shall I not allow
your crackling voice
to
teach me once again
the
burning ways of passion?
My fallen oaks are abundant
from
previous storms
of
wind and lightning.
Fuel to last
forever.
So I
place another log on the fire
and
I watch the climbing flames
reflect
in
new eyes of love
looking
back into mine.
And I feel fallen
memories
burn
like dry oak
in the warmth of
your spirit.
So I
place another log
on
the fire.