Watching the Fire

Watching the Fire

The wind has built a night wind in the flames
The fire is rising with each chimney gust
There is a heat encroaching on the room,
an exile till I found these cedar chips,
pieces left from building a new shelf
Now heat is welcome and he seats himself,
beneath the sofa where I hang my feet.

There is a golden light before the hearth
and I am watching trees outside that bend
almost to earth, but then rise back up again.
And I am watching how the mountains stand
so much a narrow gateway to the world
and in the last long view of evening dusk
I know they lead to distances too far

I know dusk must move slowly into night
and that it does so all around the world
and whether we sleep in darkness or in light
the dusk will still move slowly into night
But for the moment I am happy here,
and half way sleeping in the heat that rakes
in gentle flicks of light across my face.