Wood laid on the hearth and lit,
the bright tomorrows stacked,
the least flame fanned
into a wicked spritely dance.
Hand over hand they sat, barely
woman and newly man, thigh
against thigh like the burning logs
coupled with fantastic longing.
No thought that in the heart’s smithy
the heat of those moments would forge
lifelong demands, the combustible
hour smouldering into years
or that a blazing light, unstoked,
could thin to a dying glow.
This poem first appeared in Ristau: A Journal Of Being, edited by the brilliant Robert L. Penick, in January 2019.
Lynne Burnett 
There’s nothing quite like a Lynne Burnett extended metaphor! 🔥🔥
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Gee, thanks, Stephanie!😘
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This ignites both imagination and recollection – WOW! Beautifully done.
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Thank you so much, Jazz!🙏
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Reblogged this on O at the Edges and commented:
Another stunner by Lynne Burnett. Oh, that “combustible hour.”
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You’re the best, Bob! Thanks, I really appreciate your comment!🙏💜
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I love your poetry, Lynne!
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As I do yours! Love how prolific you are too!😊
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Now that I’m back to working full-time, I’ll be much less prolific. 😦
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Oh! Well congrats on the new job! Is it related to books at all?
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No, alas. But it is related to food. 🙂
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Lovely blog you hhave
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Thank you!
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