Beneath the cold, white-gray ash
one more piece of
burning oak lies
hidden
remnants of lines
of woodflesh
old pathways
for water persist
burning orange
hot
not seen until
the ashes are stirred,
mixed, turned
unveiling
a smoldering
nugget
burning unchecked.
2 comments:
Lovely. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be reading poetry, and I really like poetry. This one I read many times.
felt this deep in my body. total visceral response. beautiful.
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