Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Sitting still, quiet, alone,
in the living room of my boyhood
alone with my thoughts after the Christmas day
watching the flickering, living flame
in the fireplace, seeing the dance, the quiver
of the gas, the glowing embers on the log,
bark catching fire, curling, shriveling in the
consuming fire, lost in vapors up the flue
the pop of the wood, giving up itself
breaking down to the heat, the hungry flames
the warmth flowing out into the room
reddening my cheeks, flush already
with the cold wind outside
letting the heat from the maw of the opening
ooze into me, slow my breathing
linger a bit longer, before bed
mesmerized by the ballet
of the blue, yellow, white flames
in the quiet of the darkened room

November 23, 2006 18:19

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