The smell of wood smoke pops the air,
Engulfing the late summer evening in bursts.
I watch the sparks of fire soaring, darting;
Imagine them along the paths we trod,
Past the trees we climbed, hovering at the gate
We shut tight, and finally stamped out by the
Riverside reeds where we played.
Now the halo of the fire grows brighter,
And only then does the evening draw the shutters on the day.
A Space I Cannot Fill
The empty chair,
The hour on Sunday when I’d phone,
The question I want to ask,
The bare coat peg,
The distant hum instead of the ticking clock,
The bookmark loose on the table,
The closed glasses case,
This space I cannot fill.
Unsure how to greet it, I walk around it,
I sulk, then rage until I allow the space to frame me,
Shifting and settling like your old cardigan
That even now still keeps me warm.