My words are like tongs
handling the hazy red coals
of a fire too holy
which nevertheless
has called me to its side.
So I whisper: “Beautiful!”
and an ember pulses brighter;
and an ember pulses brighter;
“Delightful!” and a spark
cracks with laughter;
“Restorative!” and
a flame licks warmly.
a flame licks warmly.
“You are unchanging and
ever-surprising,” I woo,
and the fire swells.
“You are satisfying and
unsettling,” I affirm,
and then I set the tongs down
while I bask on the hearth
and rebuild my courage
for handling the fire again.
EXCELLENT. Love this poem.
Beautiful!