Page 29 - Contrast1990

Attachment (Letting Go)
by Pat Blackman

I am the fool who builds
a fire in the grass by a field
of harvest-brown wheat.

Wrapped up and narrow, I know
only the snap of dry kindling
in my hands and the bite
of hungry flames.

Summer's evening sun still slipping
down above the tree laced horizon,
and here I am throwing sparks
into the wind, blind to danger
like a worm to the earth it breathes.

Even when the thought of a field enlightened
burst through me, I let the branches burn
not knowing why ...

Perhaps it's the safety I seek
in the tickling heat, in the laugh
and crackle of the wood consumed

or the power I assume
by burdening the clear
sky with smoke.

Maybe the comfort
in the orange rhythm
of pulsing embers

or the slight illusion
woven by dancing hands of light.

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