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Spring Burning
Spring sun has left my wood stove dark,
as cold to touch with hand as eye.
I’m done with groping logs that arc
and leap to flame, and, ashen, die.
I feel the warmth of sun, whose stove
is far away, but sniff no flames
that flicker fragrantly with clove
—
like mine, capricious in their
aims.
For logs I’ve lost all appetite.
They’ve banged up both my hand and knee . . . .
To look outside my skin for light
and warmth feels oddly strange to
me.
This yearning . . . . Is it Inner Eye?
Burns bio-physics, chem — and psi?
Leland Jamieson
has been a performing arts center manager for most of his working life,
is retired and lives in East Hampton, Connecticut, USA. His recent
and forthcoming work appears in Bellowing Ark, Blue Unicorn, Neovictorian
/Cochlea, Raintown Review, and 3rd Muse. He has gathered a number of his
published formal poems, some with streaming audio, under the title Needles
in a Pinewood at www.geocities.com/lelandjamieson. He is hawking a longer
book manuscript by the same name.
Leland's Web Site
Email: Leland Jamieson
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