A Few Rough Edges

fire flaming between three bone-dry pieces of wood
create crackling sounds that soothe a dark night
and warm an aching spirit. You sit. Dark and brooding,
shadows slithering around your profile.
Did I see a tear,
sliding silently down your chin?
There.
I see it now,
the light from the fire has caught it for me.
Evidence.
Pure and simple, evidence that it does matter,
at least a little.

life should matter. All life, and all things that make life
bearable, should matter.
The fire matters.
Burning as it does, in spite of the defeat, warming
still, in spite of the cold.
You leave, as you said you would. Still the fire
burns, licking fervently between the openings where air
slides
exciting it.

there were no openings in us for the air,
only a few rough edges.