There is something of self in a fire
the hesitant start, equivocation
then taking hold, a familiar reek
of match and firelighter seeming
older than fire itself, something
you watched elders do
but once it’s going,
the glass door closed
to a muted purring
it is the tiger’s eye which fixes you
flickering your face —
a fascination with
being consumed
Dick Alderson (Western Australia)
An independent poetry journal. Watch your step.
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