Matches

Poem No. 122

This past week brought our first real rain after a long, hot summer. We stood at the open door, listening to the thunder and breathing petrichor. We’ve had cooler evenings since the rain, and they have me longing for autumn and afternoons by the fire:

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I know not which page
in the book of fate
keeps tally of the matches
we’ve yet to strike
or of our remaining
evenings by the fire.

I only know, my love,
that with a few sticks
and a little paper,
you kindle new eternities
with a simple flick
of your hand.

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~ A

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