I feel like the color of
A post super moon sky
Like the last of the leaves on the wet,
Cold November tree
Hanging on for dear life
Like the flame that's too shy to really ignite
But breaks up the dark,
Grey dismal sky
Flashes of drowned out orange
Thrashing around
The post super moon sky

Poke at charred logs
Sparks lift and fall
With each gust of breath I blow
In the blink of an eye
Fire ignites
Warming my homeless bones