How to Build a Fire

(the fire that begins)
by not being a fire at all—

just
a hush of twigs
(nakedly scattered)
beneath the bell-of-breathing pine

and one match
(held like a promise
or a question
or a maybe-yes)
flicks

oh!—how tender
flame first fingers bark:
a shy cathedral of smoke
praising upward in crooked whispers

then crackle
(leaps
dance
becoming)

sticks marry heat
and pinecones sing
and the black mouth of winter
swallows light
laughing—

not because it is over
but because it has begun.