The dark skies' autumn stars
rain a storm of living sparks,
of curling weighted,
orange carbons,
upon this fractured moment,

upon this stifled earth.

Out on the crackling hearth,
the dancing heat,
a cadent beacon,
lights your amber suit,
imbues your wintered skin.

Far beyond your kin,
long past the
unheard prayers that sit
on vast, crackling voids,
far beyond
the transit of the flickering Venus,

there is the living spirit
sitting still and true,
in rock, and wood,
and wind and gods eyes
are glowing, breathing coals,
looking up
on a charcoal
of too soon dreamed eternities.

So now we remember new colours,
we recall lighter lights,
softer modes of living,
more fluid states of being.

The ghostly clouds
of ashen thought,
that die with the fire, that die with the dawn,
that leave the moment so desolate
so dire and so awake,

are condemned now,
to a single simple motion,
a flicker
of burning memory.