A coal fire burned in a basket grate.
We lay in front of it
while ash collected on the firebrick
like snow.
I looked at you, in the small light
of the coal fire: back
delicate, yet with the form of the skeleton,
cheekbones and chin
carved, mouth full,
and breasts like hills of flowers.

The fire was tight and small an endured
when we added a chunk every hour.
The new piece blazed at first
from the bulky shadow of fire,
turning us bright and dark.
Old coals red at the center
warmed us all night.
If we watched all night
we could not tell when the new
coal flaked into ash.