old fires

I left myself at the back of the house, 

one corner with no draft or window, no splendid views

I sat there, thinking about the world, 

dreaming of both edges and horizons

on and on forever

till memories bashed and foamed

and life felt both hard and soft in the dare of a dream.

how to feel this, ingest in God this terrible aching-

outside, the warm colors of the sky 

draped like sand

like Emily Carr would paint it.

flares from 

old fires

dressed the dense forest. 

here in the corner

i can be with you again.