Fragile spark, flame you cup to keep
from sputtering. Mind it doesn’t die out,
this fire handed down from one to another
down the centuries. An edict, a wish, a talisman.
A dream, messages inked on your bones by forebears
who knew to find the hinge where the tip of a spear
could find its target. Bloody skirmish on the shore
(it wouldn’t be the last), after a portal opened
and three-masted ships with broadsides and
falconets brought their hunger from across
the ocean. Bite of peppercorn and cardamom,
burnish of clove and cassia bark. The letter
from the ancestors is brief: Don’t let the heat
turn remnant. Shelter its energy in stone.
*
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
