November: The Trees Are on Fire

And I can catch their flame
To light my matchstick
Struck with love again

November comes quickly
I never prepare
For the dancing leaves
For the crack in the air

The trees are on fire
Yet a chill rages ‘neath
Their warmly orange and glowing halos
Forget to ease my clenching teeth

I need fire before
My limbs to turn to black
When I can’t strike the flint
Rub two sticks or light a match

Over shoulder I hear crackling
An old flame to be sure
Yet it’s the only nearby fire
I must stoke to remain warm

The trees are on fire
And I’ve been scorched before
Still have scars and brands persisting
And more are coming I am sure

But approaching seems less daunting
Up this close I feel the heat
I reach my ungloved hands toward her
This mistake disfigures me

Outstretched my hands begin to boil
The burning flesh repugnant smell
Reminds me of times I seared and suffered
Times that I remember well

The trees are on fire
Yet I huddle here in cold
The old enticing hottest fires
Leave me with myself to hold

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