Winter-Flame

Photo by DAVIDCOHEN on Unsplash

You swept through my home like winter-flame,
violent, consuming—through quiet and rain.
I awoke engulfed by indiscriminate shade,
unaware of myself—lost, without pain.
Your embers danced and licked my frame,
carefully, silently etching your name.
Pushing hot hands through my fraying mane,
wondering, sighing, as we began again.

(Pairs well with Schubert’s “Minuet in A major, D. 334”)

For Christine, our first poem.