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POEM: fire pit

fire pit

the gasoline pools in the fire pit
like dry ice in a monster movie
it calls for the match

it doesn’t always work the first time
the body needs to learn
how to open its gates

monk, poet, “conscious hermit”
I am all and none of these
face lit by a burning bridge

if a truth of so many years
can be unwritten with a cup of tea
then what else is malleable?

/ / /

11 May 2021
Greensboro Bend VT

Published in My poems Poetry Vermont


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