the northwest casts a particular spell: when
the sun comes out, you forget it ever rains here.
as days grow longer, nights become more inviting.
the moon has seen it all before but i wonder if it
pick out this tiny spark, a brushpile releasing
solar energy in terrestrial flame. i didn't expect
burn so long, thick green alder roots don't catch
and even burned halfway through are still too supple
to break down. but i played the small game,
carefully placed the tiniest of twigs to keep
feeding the fire to itself, breathed new life
into it every time it threatened to expire.
sarah went to bed and i sat with my thoughts
but i must not have been paying attention because
they slipped off, leaving me mute under the stars.