poem: the burning letter

the crone said "your words
will not reach a stone heart
forgotten earth wrestled
into negotiated nests"

she said "you must sacrifice
words until the flame's rest
on pilled thoughts
sleeping on a universe
until vexed pulse conjures a stone river"

burned pages
lighter lit days
bonfire years
among sawed and piled months

highway moons rolled back her reply
which was three laned words
slung and stoned
like granite verbs

the crumbled age
wrinkled disillusioned thoughts
on a heartbeat stage
seethed crimson sparks
from a peerless cage
relented soft combustions
inheriting ash beds

dethroned ember lofts
rolled down air
as she gathered me
like night scattered light

streaking through her yard
were my skin embers groaning
as she cooled the orange coast
without fear