Spirits Ignite, Inferno Lights
crackle, smoke lifting off wood,
licks of ember rise in a silent grove
clearing where we gather 'round
chairs, folded out, feet towards
a fire, from a spark, 'til bon',
speaking of tales past,
yet locked in present
words leave lips
wicks burnt, whispers
over a charred lore
into night, we pour
our being, ourselves
spirits ignite,
inferno lights.
4/16/23 – Andy McRae