Log Fire
Into the flames
I pitched the final log,
that I had cut with special care.
Not meant for the fire though,
but to carve names upon.
The names of lovers.
Into the flames
I pitched a final dream -
hallucinating as a child
through a romantic eye.
Seeing shadows in the vapours,
that might have been lovers.
One last look
I remind myself
before the draught takes all.
And a memory hangs there
for a moment.
Disappearing without a word -
the silence of a lover's farewell.
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