Moonshine and Matches
Syncopated in smooth
M-o-l-a-s-s-e-s
Rhythms; a smoulder, a crack,
A flicker that dances with the
Intensity of evergreen sap on
A rainy, September Sunday.
Which is not at all blazing
But still it somehow roars with
Turpentine toxicity, tickling
The pine-addled fancy of
Lazy haze and cabin dreams.

Consumed in stillness,
Hidden beneath a
Kindled soul.