The fire burns, birch and maple
To black
And long extends my moments,
For time like wood exhausts
Too quick
My years, my body—abhorrent.
This room grows cold and then,
My love,
Our shadows roll congruent,
For dark will hold though time
Doth wane
Thy fondness reigns triumphant.
This poem first appeared on John Blase's blog. was kind enough to feature one of my new poems on his website. HERE.