Fire

 

In you, I see splinters of sun

with a river’s rhythm

lifting you into the chimney’s dark,

a cathedral of flaming spires

proclaiming warmth

as my hungry arms reach out.

 

I hear the breathy excitement

of those who first hatched you from a feverish act of friction,

and I wonder whether the searing of meat

come fumbling from an accident

or a curious thought,

how we’ve since tortured flesh

till it’s shrivelled,

coated,

plated.

 

As you shrink into the dying slices of earth that feed you,

how can I not think of a life,

starting slender,

threaded through the things you’ll conquer?

 

Your prime is a craze of heat and vigour,

but you’ll cower and become no more

than a dotage of warmth

among ruins that soften and crack,

crumbling grey,

and even a child could sneeze you away.

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Trevor Conway writes mainly poems, stories and songs. Subjects he typically writes about include nature, sport, society, creativity and interesting moments. His first collection of poems, Evidence of Freewheeling, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015; his second, Breeding Monsters, was self-published via Amazon in 2018. Website: trevorconway.weebly.com