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Carpinteria in Winter
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The fire’s out.
Aways, down the beach,
over the dune that we used to lie on,
the waves slap the shore;
beat on it like futile condemnation.
I’m shivering from the cold
that crept in as the last log
collapsed and gave up
and the fog rolled in to shutter the stars.
Still, in the pit,
proudly dying,
the orange embers of this great
consuming fire
linger.
Hoping, as the life pours out
of them like marbled lava
that something – anything –
will come
summon the flames again.
But it’s late. And I’m tired.
And you went to bed ages ago.
I pour the water,
and watch love sputter and die.
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2005, David W. Clary
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Dessert
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