Embers

The glow of dying

The fire slowly ebbs
dying glow recedes
into snapping logs.
Black coals streaked white
against the fall of night.

I sit here watching
rake in hand
water hose at my feet.
But, alas,
I am in pain
for I can not
extinguish
the heat before me,
nor the one inside.

Small tongues of flame
dance with hope
upon finding fresh fuel,
then slowly die
upon consumption.

The time for show
long gone,
and the time for heat
is almost through.
I bask in shallow warmth,
my back cold
against the pressing wind.