James Richardson

FIRE WARNINGS

So much on the verge
of flame.
In a hot
wind anything
is tinder: paper, sage

feverish with bees, your auburn
hair, my hand
that glows with a thought.
Sunset

or sleepless dawn,
nothing is sure
but what’s already burned –
water that’s ash, steel
that has flowed and cooled --

though in the core
of a star, they too
would fuse and rage,
and even volcanic
glass and char,

and the cold seas,

and even
what we once were
might burn again—
or in the heart.

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