Saturday, June 16, 2012

Poet

He was the kid who stayed up late
after marshmallows and scary stories.
He’d sit there for hours, entranced
by the deepest red of the campfire,
soaking-in the heat. He’d watch sparks
escape and turn into stars against the black
mountain sky like red-hot secrets taking flight.
Before long, he’d find himself huddled
against the edge, eyes burning,
overcome by the heat of the moment,
focused on nothing but the wiggle of the flames
and the wavy hot glow of the smolder.


Avatar Review - 2012 Issue

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