Feeding Fire

May 23 2011

We feed the fire

a morsel of wood, a rotten log.

Sparks erupt,

choking smoke, roils up.

Pockets of sap

flare hungrily,

sizzle, hiss

and pop.

And like fine seasoning

a handful of dry needles

are tossed,

blazing-up in golden light.

Catching us

faces flushed, and glowing.

Its appetite

is inexhaustible

and we feed it, compulsively

mesmerized by its power.

A log, too long to swallow

will last all night long.

I stretch out my foot, nudging it deeper,

like a skewer

straight to the fire’s heart.

A hundred years of sunlight

released

in a few short hours.

We scour the forest

for fallen branches

snags,

driftwood, washed up.

Raid a beaver dam

for bone dry fuel.

Sitting around a campfire

  —  back, frozen
front far too hot  — 

we watch,

as greedy fire

consumes a woodpile

as big as a man.

An exothermic reaction of air and flame

that self-sustains,

releases heat

feeds itself

demands to be replenished.

I think how 200 seconds

deprived of oxygen

and our brains are fried.

And where enough of this toxic gas

would consume the planet,

in mass conflagration

wildfire.

And how it feeds the life

that smolders within us,

burning bright

giving off heat and light

illuminating the world

for our earthly pleasure.

And then leaves behind

exhausted bodies

to cool.

Like the pile of ash

we poke with a toe next morning.

The rocks still warm,

perhaps a glowing ember

buried.