Poem: Cold Campfire

 

Cold Campfire

 

amber magic, fleet as liquid,

smokes in rain-drenched wood.

 

this forest of unvarnished dark,

 

who wouldn’t give everything

for even a figleaf of shadow?

 

orgies of brief genies

wrestle the moisture in the kindling

 

but the damp is hostile

and the spell bareboned.

 

half-thawed fingers savor every twig,

such puny gifts of heat,

 

even as the spine suffers

miles of needy cold.

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7/19/25 ... Took out a word ... In a pitchblack forest, seeing a shadow means your campfire is at least going.

4/20 "unvarnished" replaces "unvanquished"... "spell" replaces "spells"

4/18 "such" replaces "the"