The First Few Fires
The first few fires of autumn laid by meHere in this stove aren't much; I acknowledgeEven the hummingbird's still caressing blooms, so I
Feeling only a brief dawn chill, build accordingly. In thickets of summer I range about,Ratcheting my long-handled pruner among stout sticks,Stealing from oak and ash, letting in a little light.These I pile in the long room where that stove squats.
Fueling it with paper and a stack of twigs, admiringEven the least hints of gold and vermillion therein,We sit back, warm enough for one dark cup of tea.
For awhile; then day overtakes us, readyIn sweater and chore coat to see to hens;Really, we shuck those soon enough, sweat on ourEars and eyelids, summer reborn briefly in our knees.So; until the ground grows cold that will hold our graves.
Feeling only a brief dawn chill, build accordingly. In thickets of summer I range about,Ratcheting my long-handled pruner among stout sticks,Stealing from oak and ash, letting in a little light.These I pile in the long room where that stove squats.
Fueling it with paper and a stack of twigs, admiringEven the least hints of gold and vermillion therein,We sit back, warm enough for one dark cup of tea.
For awhile; then day overtakes us, readyIn sweater and chore coat to see to hens;Really, we shuck those soon enough, sweat on ourEars and eyelids, summer reborn briefly in our knees.So; until the ground grows cold that will hold our graves.
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