Sunday, October 21, 2012

Slow Wet Flames

The woods are burning. Slow wet flames make gaps
in foliage that was wall-solid last
week. Now bare branches grope the sky and slap
at gathering clouds. The autumn winds spread fast
decay, another kind of fire that's wet
and warm. Like fall. Like sex in fall, with blankets
piled high and flannel sheets. Like beds
that creak in slow-time. Summer's spent, we drank it
to the dregs. Now orange-burning leaves
and wooden skeletons that rattle softly
usher in the season-change. It's costly,
life. Whatever lives must also grieve.
I face the winter's chill without regret
and warm myself with embers slow and wet.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside

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