November

(It's raining today, and it rained all last night, and the rain is supposed to be bringing in cooler weather. In the spirit of welcoming the soon-to-arrive November and (I hope) a drop in temperatures, I'm offering this poem, written four years ago.)

November

On crisp fall nights like this one, when
I’m watching a fire that’s gone
to coal, the embers glow like tiny suns
against the blackness of the night.
There’s a stillness as the ash, airy light,
floats around us, suspended in the heat.
It lands in our hair, its thick smoky stench
weaving itself into our clothes, into our skin.

My pupils are still tiny from the blaze
that’s passed, but in the flickering
redness, I see you, my eyes meeting ones
that glow like embers, tiny cerulean suns.
And the dry gasping heat of the coals is nothing
beside the warmth I find in your gaze.