Like a bird teased from the leaves, the fire
is a wisp to be touched or torched.
To be the softness where flame meets
flesh. To be the body too, st(r)oked
into amazement. To be the plump skin
puckering in the heat. The feathers
shaken from the scalp. The scabbed thing
lying nestled between the cracked wood.
Naked, but for all this smoke.