Three Stages of a Fire
I
A spark is shot
Deftly, from between two fingers.
It sits, wavering on its bed
Like a lone star
Against the black,
Cold coals.
Chuckling, a candle flame shows
Its little golden head.
Sleepily, it reaches for its mother
And she, flickering, crackles her tongue
As the scorching hand upon her breast grows
And spreads.
Curious and hungry,
flamma explorat.
II
A fire is mature, suddenly
Superior. Its arms extend,
It works, briskly it burns.
Like a tiger
It inhabits its cage.
Laughing, a blaze rises
To greet a brittle friend.
For another
And another
Blaze yearns.
Alas! Any tears would hiss
If the glowing cheeks reminisced a kiss.
It is Love The Fuel on which its life depends.
Selfish and beautiful,
flamma vivat!
III
The embers sift, tenderly
Nursing the staggering
Foolish old flame
Who must be coaxed to nibble and feed.
No light livens the hearth, haunted now,
Merely shadows.
In faded fame, amidst dusty fortune
The patient lies.
And it ponders as all its dazzle dies
Who taught me to hate?
Was it lack of love or lack of life
That finally dampened my fanciful play?
Slowly,
Painfully,
The gargoyle face is smothered in ash,
The soft powder of its parents fate.
And death waits
Eerily
Still
Until another is born in the grate.
Tired and lonely,
flamma extinguet.
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