Soft Ash

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This is how he knelt,

beside soft ash and firelight,

hidden in time until…

 

until I shook up

my rough chestnut roaster,

a makeshift shape,

a twisted foil platter,

hot and blackened:

far from memories

of polished copper,

burning green

in orange embers

and yet…

 

and yet this sound

travelled down

through thirty years:

an unchanged murmur

of sweetly charred flavour,

of charcoal shells

scattered.

And so tonight…

 

Tonight, I kneel beside

soft ash and firelight,

lost in time.

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