I am warm wood,
like the stove-lengths
I stole from the family of the forest;
chopped to stack and ponder using
on evenings that get too cool for
body heat, blankets and breath.
and you are cold steel,
unbothered and unbending.
stiff, lengthy and sharpened to a point
used to turn me over when my flame
goes dull.
I burn with intention.
you stoke with precision.
but stay a while
so I can see your red hot glow