The Geometry of Fire

We watch

as flames scissor patterns

into the night sky.

Only a hint of stars

as smoke we cannot see

clogs the air.

The sound is what we will remember:

fire talks. Its voice the roar of an approaching train,

an enunciation of destruction, the harbinger of a X of Y.

Then an explosion, a detonation,

the whole town awake now;

dawn coming early

as the glow spreads over us

turning night into day

In a few hours

only a steaming hulk

bent metal, collapsed walls

ash of so much memory,

so many livelihoods

will remain.

In a mountain town

we know the double edge of fire

the twinning of creation and destruction

Our homes warmed in winter

our forests purged in summer

the ghost of so many times past.

In the morning

smoke fades to a ghostly grey

as water tends fire now.

Bodies gather to witness. our differences shed like extra skin

We too must tend the ash

must answer the question of fire:

Can we take this burning

and rise,

                rise again?

The Perseids at Shoshoni

                                    ---for Jimmy

Above us

stars rocket the stratosphere--

hurtle at speeds we can only dream.

The night sky is alive with a brilliance

we cannot see.

But, on faith, we stand

hopeful as five-year-olds

in the early morning beneath a moon so bright

the night becomes day.

They’re up there, I say, though we can but imagine

their arrow-like paths and silvery bursts.

And anyway, isn’t that why we’re here?

Living is an act of faith:

If we are to believe with the heart

                        ---that great organ of fire—

                                    then these stars rain

every night, all night.

—Karen Auvinen