The flames have dwindled down to logy coal.
Aye, my roaring stove has been exhausted.
It kindled warmth, with passion sang its soul;
then in frigid darkness – somehow lost it.
Hours ago, the hottest I remember,
I felt it toast my face and proof my core.
Now it crumbles cold to crusted ember,
and long is night to go on empty store.
I try to stoke it, feed the famished fire,
but every piece I pile only smothers.
The birch, the oak, and all that I desire
overwhelm the remnants like the others.
It seems the only hope to stave its death
is twig the grounds that glow and give them breath.
Published in Inkwell Spring 2021 Bethany Lutheran College
I hiked deep into woods | while breaking virgin snow.
I saw some tracks pass through | they appeared to be fresh.
The hooves of a large stag| wandered into the brush
So I veered from my path | curious where they’d go.
They meandered around oaks | and no hurry was had,
but then I saw the tracks | suddenly had more space.
I guessed the deer had heard | my presence in his place
and so by leaps and bounds | the buck jumped from his pad.
Hoping to catch a glimpse, | quietly I pressed on.
I would peer through the trees | as I reached a hill’s crest,
but all I’d see was tracks; | he’d left me in his dust
for every time I’d look | he was already gone.
I knew not where I was, | though lost and on a roam;
I seemed to know this place. | I had seen it before.
Then looking up the hill, | I saw the roof next door.
Though I never found the deer,| I’m glad he brought me home.