The Last Match

Ignore it, then, or blow it out—
                                                the end will be the same.
But when we set the kindling right
under a dense and dry
pile of twigs and gently blow
the sparks before we stack
small branches on and then thick limbs
and rest to feel the heat,
soon the blaze will gorge itself
spit embers at our feet
slash its blue teeth where we wish
and places where we don’t--
then we will understand some things
those less patient won’t:
Time and only dry, dry brush,
not much of a flame.

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