Can we say that fire has a spirit?
Its sensual dance
on toe-tips
that barely touch the wood.
Its crimson blush,
orange eyes sparkling,
the drifts of its hair
flying madly on the breeze.
The swift moves of its dance
that slowly push the wood down
pulverizing it to ashy dust.
Can such activity
have no spirit behind it?
A dancer so intent
that as I close my eyes
I watch his flickering imprint
continue the motion.
