Purification Four, Fire

A fire in the middle of the woods
That burns late on a chilly August night
Becomes a meditation on the good
In what remains within the embers’ light.
A thought flames out about the time she kissed
At noon beneath a bending trunk of tree;
Another is of morning and the mist,
With all the days and nights before her free.
A poignant time, this is: her tent awaits;
At last she goes to it with falling heart,
But there she recollects until too late –
She’s sleepless as the final morning starts:
She stamps her boots upon the fire’s embers,
But still some flame remains into September.