Trees like fire
Take these trees around this reddened lake,
make of them a cradle or a hearth.
Make of them matchsticks if you must.
Only once become for their own
do they reflect the sky ino the land and home.
Circling round in the air becoming autumn,
a place that I call mine.
This air, these hills, they invite their own combustion,
these woods are tools.
And for themselves, and for tomorrow’s seperate minutes,
this lake, these skies,
these trees like fire.