Wood burning stove


Wood burning stove

Fire fully woken
within its black belly

reduce the air to slivers
flames forced to sip
savour the warmed wine
let it soak into their tongues

a charred cuckoo-clock

I imagine the cuckoo
choking on song
waiting to burst free

announcing midnight
with a flurry of flames
squeezed from its scorched
thread-thin throat

ticks as it unlatches the wood
deciding on the fly
how time should tock

a mouse made of memories
stirs from the glowing embers
crumbles its womb
with its waking

the length between breaths
between moments

decided by the size of the flesh
and how long to chew
the mouthfuls of grain

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