The last flickering flame was stamped on
Smothered and choked
We wave the last creeping tendrils away
As if swatting flies
Smile, and depart
By small lights from our hands
With the sun already hidden
The smoke is gone
But remaining logs and tinder
Hide the last fermenting tiny coal
Orange and hot
Unseen and useless, but
Determined to burn
.
May 2, 2025; 11 p.m.
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