fireside

June 12, 2015 § Leave a comment

logs

kindling

the misguided use

of a petroleum product…
and, here I sit

(a few singed arm hairs)

        in concourse

        with

        kin
comparing

fragments

and swapping theorem 
as to the start and path

of each

fragmentation
the pieces don’t snug

like they used to

but a little play

never derailed

a train
so we sit

as the flames find

their rhythm 
passing pieces around

the pit
each holding up their 

version of the mosaic 

for a few stanzas
another and another

picked from the air
added to the line
until the last chunk is

tossed on embers
and the

pieces are swept back into their boxes to the soft click

of a chair folding

a cooler

closing
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

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