[Gail White]

MATCHED

I've made my share of fire, from clearing woods
and piling thirds of birches on as high
as flywheel swing and strength would make them fly,
to tenting twigs in mountain solitudes,
and found that every ending is the same:
when sparks no longer spiral into space,
cross-timbers cave to embers that replace
the flash of flame in close embrace with flame.

But two can build a fire that's long in flaring,
a blaze they start then never have to feed,
that swirls, indrawing draughts, and fans their need
to leave the cold and dark of lonely bearing
and make a bed no snow or night can smother,
then burn in it till one out-burns the other.