This is the fire that dies when the wood freezes;
when the ground releases the sun is when we will meet again.
In the winter: light December nights
are all we remember.
Sparkling snow and champagne problems
bubbling to the surface of our existence.
Who are we? Where have you been?
Why does your soul dance with flames in the midst of my ice age?
I need your warm. I need your fire.
I am frozen lumber in the middle of
December.