October 11, 2010, Dahlonega, Ga.
The sun just rising,
the leaves just turning,
coffee just cooling,
one tendril of Virginia creeper
just grazing the fencepost like
a curl just loosed from a chignon
just after the wedding.
I have just two mornings left to see the hill face
on the other side of the trees warm to gold
while I watch not the sunrise but its effects,
while roosters crow in the valley and the innkeepers
bake in the kitchen below,
two days and a return
to a flirtation that’s just ended.
It was a catalyst,
kindling just caught,
breeze just turned to carry
fuel to flame, spark just strong enough
to overcome the stirring.
So I wonder:
How do I maintain it
down the mountain,
fuel the reaction without
carry the fire without the torch.