John Anderson Poet Tanka

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The Hearth Kept Their Faces

Faces all on fire,
eyes catching the dancing flames~
light in their pupils,
dark fireplace gathers each gaze
keeps them when eyes look away.

Wood splits and whip-cracks,
sparks surge up into night's arms
like stars finding night~
the fireplace adores show-time
in its arena of stone.

Ash calms burnt embers,
stones lament the loss of light
warmth without a flame~
the fireplace cradles the shape
of what can no longer burn.

Smoke has lost its verve,
curling up now from the seams.
staining blank-faced stones~
glowing warm in the half-light
clinging to the afterglow.

Dark, damp, and dank now,
night has drunk the final warmth
Cold soot scents the stone~
the shiny green-black hearth waits
keeping winter for the years.

Morning finds no glow,
only the smell of old ash
clinging to the stones~
the fireplace dreams of footsteps
time itself tending the cold.

The last ember died
while darkness quietly drank
its final warm breath~
the hearth retains every face
beneath its moss and silence.

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