Tomorrow I’ll put out the baby pilot lamp that I’ve kept going for the past year and a half. The remains of a bonfire built by sparks that built on sparks.
A light that burned high and bright at a time when the sky was a fire blanket that smothered my hopes and dreams.
Tomorrow I sleep under another blanket, holding tight those days of burning, burning, burning.
Tomorrow I look one last time at Our blue flame that filled the pages with experimental words; a fire that ignited a room inside me for pure love and play and imagination.
Tomorrow I’ll watch as that burnt yellow-red-orange gently goes to bed and I’ll wait to see what grows there next.
