Ashes line the grate
after the great snow storm.
Chill strikes down the chimney;
a ghost stepping over the grave
of last night’s fire.
Ashes lift and shiver,
settle and sigh, whisper
to the warm wood tales of passion;
eagerly, we consume their heat,
lying in the dust,
brushing away reminders
of how it always ends
until tomorrow’s embers,
spent, draw us back
to kneel among the ashes
with dustpan and brush
and the unclean slate
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