September Bonfire

September Bonfire


In the bonfire I see something that would eat even death.
So death must not be made of air after all.

I see summer’s bones smoldering long after the flame.
The seasons curled like scrolls of verse around each other collapse.

We have one of these every month, the landowner tells me.
Just from the stuff that falls away.

The one who stands in darkness while the other watches the sun set
will be walking in the morning sun while the other kicks off a fitful dream.

At a certain point it will make sense to gather fallen branches.
To dream wide awake of a motion that will eat even death.

11 thoughts on “September Bonfire

  1. Ron

    Stout stuff, Jeff. This one has me enthralled and more than a little perplexed, but I guess that’s what great poetry is made of. 🙂


  2. lillian

    There is something truly hypnotic about staring into a flame….then multiply its power into a bonfire and one can get lost in its reds and yellows and blues. Your first lines are amazing. Imagery in the second stanza has me twirling the words around thoughtfully, like I sometimes twist a strand of hair by my ear to think about something perplexing. And the last stanza wraps it up….at a certain point….
    This is such a thought provoking piece! Really really enjoyed, especially reading it aloud.


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