My voice, the fire

The woman is tending my voice.
Night after night,
I see her,
strong and deeply connected
to the earth,
the open air.

I am unfamiliar with this language
but I can see
the golden heart she speaks of.

A moment billows,
comes towards me,
even now,
while the woman is shining
in the clear blue sky.

We sit and eat the fire.
We drink the heat.
We wake the morning.
The sun speaks on the inside.

I can only be here.
I can, at last, be here.


The Burning Road

When I place my foot
upon the burning road
I feel the heat of fire.

I feel the cool of fire
when I hold my foot
above the icy road.

But this is my road
and this is my fire
and this is my foot.

My foot longs for the burning road of fire.

* * *

This is my second poem of the day and my second tritina, too. Here, I experimented with shorter line lengths and an even simpler structure. You can read my first tritina, ‘The Women’, along with a description of the tritina form, here.