Crackle
The fire built
from spindly sticks
starts small
then ladder-climbs
to conflagration
warming our
goose-pimpled flesh.
The grackle hops,
curious burst of black
feathers, into the circled
light: a visitor from
dark skies. Is there
enough warmth,
he asks,
to share?
8 thoughts on "Crackle"
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Not entirely sure why, but this poem made me think of an awakening. I like it.
Thanks, Lee! I had an image of the bird coming back into a figurative egg-like light. I like that concept of awakening.
“Crackle” and “grackle” are two words that just cry to be together in a poem – how delightfully you responded!
Thanks Jennifer! Much better than “spackle” 🙂
Such a vivid image!
Thanks, Linda!
you major in dynamite sounds Bravo!
Thank you, Pat!