Come to the Fire

All ghosts, all shimmers, all glitches
of memory, like scarce moon
on water, sparking between clouds.

I have built this fire for you;
here’s where you choose a stone,
a blade of grass, a spruce tree, a stick man, an
avalanche to throw into the fire.

Some things will burn, other will become
achingly hot, tranformed
by a need.



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Jane Smallwood

Passionate about poetry; mine is a work in progress. I’m an editor who reads a lot, but when I read in my free time, I don’t change a word. Love to paddleboard!